Women of Courage

New Year’s Eve 2018 wasn’t the joyful countdown at home with grapes and a sparkling beverage as it has been for nearly all of my until then previous 49 years. It was instead a quieter, adapted gathering around the hospital bed my dad had been on for a few weeks at that point. He was surrounded by grandchildren and loved ones like the porcelain statues of Buddha I admired as a kid. Sometimes he’d smile but mostly he continued to deeply miss my mom, gone from this Earth three years ago today. Three years that feel like decades or weeks, depending on the day.

I hadn’t been able to properly grieve my abuela (grandmother) Elia who reunited with the Universe on Dec 8th 2018, within the hour of my dad and I arriving to Colombia. We weren’t able to travel to her town for a few more days, and in my dad’s fragile health and state of mind, I didn’t have the heart to tell him about abuela until two days later when I saw the opportunity. He was saddened by her parting, sharing my sorrow of being so close and yet so immeasurably far away to say our last goodbyes. Abuela was in her late nineties at her passing and merely a shadow of the feisty, surprisingly strong woman who was always so giggly to see me all those summers ago, always hugged me harder than I thought she possibly could. She asked several times about my mom when we last visited with her in 2016, but how to tell a mother with a tenuous grasp of reality that her daughter had already passed on?

She didn’t know it, but abuela gave me an extraordinary gift that summer. Despite her waning abilities both mental and physical, despite the great care and attention my aunt Lídia imparted her with during my grandma’s last years of life, she was able to connect to the memory of my middle name when she asked me who I was. I answered “Tony, el hijo de Mary (Tony, Mary's son)” and after a few seconds she looked back up at me and said “Antonio Jose.” Considering that she had lost the ability to recognize most of the everyday people around her and that many years had passed since I had last seen her, that was quite a moment for me. I felt something like a warm jelly spread out through me from my chest as she said it which was a huge personal deal given that hearing “Antonio Jose” always used to spread in me something far closer to dread and fear. Latina moms of yesteryear collectively decided that calling their kids by first and middle name would be judge, jury and execution in one fell swoop. Hearing “Antonio Jose” meant my mom was yelling and that I was in trouble. Big, huge, mega, world-ending trouble. It was the verbal chancletazo prelude to the actual chancletazo (common Latino disciplinary action delivered via flip-flop). Abuela said little else after that and she didn’t need to because I took the moment for what it was - one last hug like only she could give me.

I grieve my abuela's passing as I honor the strong and courageous women I have been fortunate to be near and learn from. How abuela Elia, my tía Lidia and my mom Mary have each on their very different paths in life faced difficult circumstances and made difficult decisions. How despite the imperfections inherent in each and every one of us as a species they educated and raised families to the best of their abilities. How I fell in love with and married an extraordinarily intelligent woman with the heart of a lion and the courage to match. How together we are raising a daughter with similar if not greater strengths. How despite my mom's deep fear of flight and airplanes crossed an ocean alone with me in her womb leaving behind everything and everyone she had ever known. She loved my dad and was ready to join him in a faraway land where they didn’t speak the language, didn't know the customs, lacked the first clue as to how they would manage...and none of that was enough to stop them from trying. Because of their immigrant dreams and motivations I have never and will never have to do anything remotely as difficult or face such daunting odds or concerns.

My mom had the courage to get up and go. My abuela to let her. Thank you abuela. I may not be in any rush to leave this Earth, but I am comforted by the fact that you and mami will be there to greet me when I do.

updated 5.24.21