disappeared into the Earth, and was spent,
Tired as a rock by the bay,
waiting for a shadow to lay it's hands on her shoulders and play the sweet melody of the sun's morning rays,
Today, she reminisces how she used to have fun,
Today, she double dutches in the street in the sun,
with all the friends she did meet,
she smiles not just because it's sweet,
but because he makes her feel light,
even when her jaw he did break with all of his might,
he showed her his love with pain,
a pain she'd think was her fault again and again
Why couldn't she be strong?
Oh, but she was -
She was taught this was the way it was,
She taught me how to make buttered tortillas
And how to wash beans
And - oh, oh my gosh - Mr. Clean!
The moments she spent with me in sport, were far too short -
They were filed with chorizo and egg,
paper towels, and lard that we did spread on corn husks to make tamales,
and bathtime and queen-sized beds and doilies-
so much lace,
And a memory that chased itself
far far away from her,
It ran -
she didn't remember Japan
she didn't remember the sand
And she didn't remember me
or the butterfly wings in my hand,
nor the porcelain dolls or the teapots she collected,
the many nights in vix and vapor rub me she protected,
the sana sana colita de rana,
or the santa sana squashed banana,
or the large chair she sat me in by the mirror,
where all those first thoughts did appear,
where she made me see myself for a queen,
taught me to make believe,
made me brush my teeth,
but told me not to brush my hair too long,
for then it would surely fall off by the end of this song,
to not be too vein,
that Jesus heals all pain,
that his blood lies in us,
and in that, I could trust,
though I could not see through the rain,
the thunder shook the car and caused my heart pain,
Despite the fear, I could hear -
the sound of me splashing around in her bath,
of Junior's laugh,
of I Love Lucy and The Three Stooges,
of Shirley Timple and the yellow, pink, purple bruises,
and the mouse she chased away,
and the fireworks that one day - when we accidentally set her grass on fire...
and all the gnats they called migas??,
And the tortillas
chopped into tiny triangles, which were also called migas????
And the gas stove,
And running out of milk and using orange juice,
and the sound of the screen door slamming,
or the bell on the front door ringing,
or the shells of the pecans crunching beneath my feet on the floor,
there was a church just across the road from her store,
Remember the miles and miles that we drove?
To find stuff just to put on the stove?
To Del Rio,
we wished it was too frio,
but it was a desert,
and she always wanted dessert,
never met someone who could be as equally sweet as all the cookies and pies and treats they would eat,
and her curly hair that she'd dye,
set every day ending in Y,
a perfect balance on her small head,
I never thought I'd see her
She forgot to curl it
She forgot to dye it
She forgot to cut it
And she looked like a ghost,
or a heavenly host,
Her hair quickly turned from brown to white,
She became a snow queen that gave me a fright,
because of how peaceful she looked,
a fairytale out of a book,
her snowy white hair it did fall,
to cover her face as she talked,
I had never seen her hair so long
but it didn't feel right, it felt so wrong,
and yet you had to let it exist,
because at least she was not gone -
although gone she could be,
when she didn't know you and she didn't know me,
when she curled herself into a ball,
the woman who always seemed so tall,
she would make herself small and try to disappear,
because no one, she thought, no one seemed wanted her her here,
so she started to freak, decided not to eat,
she lost her purpose,
shoved her feelings through her surface,
she'd fight -
through the day and throug the night,
fight this injustice, this bright - fluorescent buzzing light,
this moaning of the other patients throughout the night,
the nurses who didn't treat seem to treat her right,
the doctors who did all they could to help,
except let her just be herself,
they wouldn't allow her to stand tall,
wouldn't allow her to help at all,
afraid she would fall,
afraid they'd have to make another call -
to the son and the son and the daughter and the niece and the nephew and the 700 granddaughters and grandsons, and they'd have to answer to why - why - why - why - why - why was she forcing herself to die?
Could they tell us the truth?
Could they tell us she was of no use?
Could they tell us how she persisted?
Resisted?
How she fought for 85 years to merely exist?
And how many times they told her no?
And how she would not let go?
She left her memories behind because sometimes the memories you have are harder to face than the fear of not knowing the time or place.
So wrap your wings around her, angels, with your saving grace,
help her know her place,
help her feel your face,
help her be safe and at peace in her space,
give her purpose and give her life,
or let her go quickly and easily in her sleep,
let her no longer weep
and give her tears to me - to us - to her family -
let us weep for her instead,
let her live in our memories, in our head,
let her know no more pain,
let her be free, let her reign, in your kingdom let her remain,
or help her heal through her pain,
help her see we do remain, that she isn't alone,
help us see that we have each other, help us pick up the phone,
help us see that even without her we are not alone
There were so many things I wanted to ask her. But it was too late for that long ago. When the diagnosis came, when the memories did not remain. You never know how much you don't know someone until they go. But I know what I know, and of those memories, I will not let go.
She is still living, so help her find peace, and let her know it is okay for her to release all that she needs to let go.