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We’ve all heard it by now. Our parents, grandparents, they are all living life for the first time, too. As a society I think we have more tolerance for grandparents because they aren’t always in the weeds. They respect some sense of boundaries. But not Etna. You see my grandmother, Etna, is the matriarch, and I exclusively call her by her first name...or some offshoot of it. She has always loudly, and subtly, called the shots. In some ways it has ruined me. An absolute force of independence and strength raised me. It’s only predictable that I have followed in her stride. In some parts of my life I desire to be gentle and dainty, but it does not come natural to me. The mold I have been raised to shape shift into is strong, loud, and determined.
My grandmother raised four children on her own in Colombia. She was one of 11, so her own share was a piece of cake. In her day they had the proverbial village to help raise the offspring - today we have iPads. I think we have it easier. She raised her children in Colombia, and now they care for her in the United States. It’s interesting to observe someone so independent be so dependent on others. You can’t envision it until you experience it. Her essence is the woman who crosses taxi clad streets in Colombia dodging donkeys and motorcycles. Her reality is ruling the kitchen to her liking, while relying on others to take her to the grocery store. She modeled grit to her children, and now they use that skill to support their families and her. She reads the Bible every morning and says God bless you. She became a citizen a few years ago and knows more about Civics than I ever have.
My childhood memories are with her. My summers in Colombia, my summers in New York, sharing a room in my tiny apartment. The nights I had to rush to go to sleep first so I wouldn’t stay awake due to her snoring. As I grew older, our physical distance grew further, but the love we had for each other remained just as strong. With grandparents you almost always pick up where you left off, but it never has to be said as it does with long lost friendships. Today I must admit I don’t see her as much as I’d like. And I have the car so it’s of no fault but my own. When I do see her, I can’t help but cry and miss her so deeply even while she is 3 feet away.
I am so aware of the hourglass slurping our time away discreetly. It’s in the background, but with every memory and every day that passes I become more aware.
This morning she called me to tell me a riddle. And it dawned on me that might be the first and last time I get that treat. What else do I need to live out with her before it can only come to life in dreams?
