Four weeks ago my family buried my grandmother, Carmen Maria Perez Nieves, the heart and soul of our family and the center of my universe. This was my contribution to her memorial service this weekend.
Dear Grandma,
Three weeks ago today you said your final goodbye to us. We had just spent the night at your house laughing and telling stories, enjoying good food and being together. It felt just like old times at 219 Audubon Avenue. It felt like you were right there with us. I want to believe you knew we were together as a family when you left us. And that you knew we would be all right, eventually.
I remember summers in Aguadilla, trying to keep up with you in the mornings as you ran your errands around the pueblo. You seemed to know everyone in town, and everyone knew you. It was just like Washington Heights, you asking after one person’s mother or another person’s job. How did you keep track of all those people and their lives? On our way back to the house, I would drop off milk that you had bought for Doña Eddy or leave the newspaper on Javier’s balcón so he could read it first. When food was ready, you would call Edward and simply say, “¡Ven!” Across the street he would come with a pile of plates that he had collected from you over the last few meals.
You were always thinking about other people and taking care of them. That was the biggest lesson you taught me – nothing was more important than taking care of the people you loved. When Mami was diagnosed with cancer, I was devastated, but I knew what I had to do because I had seen you do it over and over again for your family and friends. Even across the miles and the ocean, I drew strength from you. During one conversation last summer, you said to me, “Thank you for doing what you had to do.” I don’t think you had any idea how much that meant to me then and even more so now that you are gone.
But Grandma, as hard as I try to be strong, I feel empty inside. I don’t know what life looks like without you in it. I walk around in a daze – not quite asleep and yet, not quite awake. When I gave the eulogy at your funeral, I struggled to
find the words. Losing you was like the Sun going out (Se nos apagó el sol). There’s no light or warmth. Everything is gray. It was too soon, Grandma. You left us too soon. Even though I know you were tired and felt like you had done what you were supposed to do, I wasn’t ready. But I was never going to be ready to say goodbye to you. Even if you had lived to be a 100, I wouldn’t have been ready.
I know if you were here right now, you would tell me to snap out of it. You would not want me to wallow in grief. I can hear you reminding me of how good a man Leif is and saying, “Cuídame ese viejo, porque él se ha comportado muy bien contigo.” You would tell me to take care of Mami and to not forget about Richie, that he needs me too. And that’s just what I’m going to do—take care of the people I love. As soon as I put my broken heart back together.
Love always,
Aimee
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