Abuelita

Paula Sousa, my beautiful Abuelita (grandmother), left us yesterday, August 19th 2007 at about 3:30pm, N.Y.

This is the first time I've had to deal with the real grief of losing a family member.  There have been others over the years, but no one so personal to my childhood, who affected my state of being.  She bathed me, cared for me, loved me.  I wanted so much to see her again before she died. 

This picture was taken in 2004.  She met my kids and my spouse.  She looked happy.  She remembered me; we watched spanish television, silly novelas that I dutifully paid attention to and asked questions about because she loved to watch them so much.  I visited her again in 2005 - she was not doing as well at that time, but my visits were still regular for that week.  I sat by her, watched the t.v., commented on the stories... but we never TALKED.  It was like I was brain dead or something; I never knew what to tell her except: yeah, I'm fine, kids are fine, we all love you alot, ok, well it's been fun, see you next year.  There was no next year.  That was the last time I saw her.  Now, I'm kicking my own ass.

I did the typical granddaughter thing - I saw all the sights, ate all  the food, celebrated my vacation, saw family - and I spent some time with Abuela.  That's what you do when you visit family, you spend some time.  Now, I wish that I had not visited one stupid museum, that I had spent every moment by her side for the short seven days I was there, because there will be no more visits to her bedside.  Now, all I have to look forward to is to see her final resting place, buried in the same cemetary as my grandfather, right next to her old building in the Bronx.  I used to watch the tombstones as we drove past on our way to visit her every Saturday when I was a kid.  So many tombstones, so many wives, husbands, kids.  I never thought about it that way before.  Cemetaries have never felt personal until now.

I can't say that I knew Paula, the person.  She was Abuela.  But she had a life before me, as hard as that is for me to fathom right now.  She had her own parents, her own childhood, her own grandmother to lose.  She was also a young girl, a girlfriend, a lover, a wife, a mother, an employee......  I don't know if she was satisfied with her life.  I don't know if she wished for more or got just enough.  I don't know what her dreams were, what she wanted for us.  All I know is that she loved us.  That has to be enough.  I will never know the rest because, in hindsight, I was too stupid and lazy to ask.

She was old.  She was tired.  We knew that her time was going to be soon.  No one in the world was as loved as she was.  She survived her husband, my grandfather, by 30 years and never remarried.  My father was the oldest of 10 children. She lost one baby in childbirth and one son to the streets of New York.  All the others survived and thrived, bringing up families of their own.  I am but one in a long list of grand children - but I still think of Abuelita as my own patron, an exclusive entity that was put on this earth for my peace of mind, to make sure that I had a dollar in my pocket, a band-aid on my skinned knee, and a piece of candy whenever I asked.  And now that she's not there, I feel this burning desire to know her, every inch of her, and to tell everyone I know about what she meant to me, to show my tears proudly in public places, to say to strangers - my grandmother died on August 19th 2007.  Her name was Paula.

Do you know what hurts the most?  It's knowing that her apartment in the Bronx will have another resident.  Someone will sleep in her room, someone will cook in her kitchen.  Someone else will wait at the hall window looking down for visitors to buzz into the building.  But, I comfort myself in knowing another family will grow in that place some day.  This will probably be my last visit to her apartment in the Bronx.  We will look through pictures, we will remember her laughter, discipline, and spirit.  We will all cry - and then we will all get on planes and trains and scatter to the four winds and hope that we will keep in touch.  It will be more difficult without our matriarch.  But one day, it will be my job to be that for my kids.  My grandkids will not know about my life other than to come over for their money, their band aids and their candy.  And I will be comforted knowing that I am filling much bigger shoes, even if I don't do it well.

I love you Abuela.  And I miss you.  I am sorry I didn't get to know more about you, but I will have you in my heart always.  As is my blogging tradition, I dedicate this song to you - Alanis, I hope you do not mind my borrowing your words, as I have none left to write that are as eloquent and sincere.

Namaste
Cindy (Thea)

Heart of the House - Alanis Morissette

You are the original template
You are the original exemplary
How seen were you, actually?
How revered were you, honestly, at the time?
Why pleased with your low maintenance?
You loved us more than we could of loved you back.
Where was your ally, your partner in feminine crime?
Oh mother, who's your buddy?
Oh mother, who's got your back?

The heart of the house
The heart of the house.
All hail the goddess.

You were "good ole"
You were "count on 'er 'til four a.m."
You saw me run from the house
in the snow melodramatically.
Oh mother, who's your sister?
Oh mother, who's your friend?

The heart of the house.
The heart of that house.
All hail the goddess.

We left the men and we went for a walk in the gatineaus
and talked like women to women would
womyn to womyn would.
"where did you get that from? must've been your father, your dad."
"I got it from you, I got it from you".

Do you see yourself in my gipsy garage sale ways?
In my fits of laughter?
In my tinkerbell tendencies?
In my lack of color coordination?