Death tends to be certain once you reach a specific age. Still, it’s never something that you expect. This year may family lost my grandmother’s aunt and while her loss was something that was something that a few of us were preparing for, it was still a sad moment.
Though I hadn’t known her well or forged a strong relationship with her, I still enjoyed listening to her stories. Shew as someone I had grown accustomed to being part of my life.
Her funeral services are not what I remember most about that day. But it was the gathering we held after the burial. Amidst the grief, there was a common familial thread that was urging us to enjoy others each other‘s company. There were conversations but around the house and the food was warming. I hadn’t expected her photo books to go around and I ended up sitting with her granddaughter and listening to the story she would tell about her. And the things she remembered about her family. These were stories that I unfamiliar with, but I soaked them up. And it reminded me of how I remember her.
Back with my grandmother used to live in East Los Angeles, on top of the hill, we would spend hours in the house and climbing through her yard and each time we would leave my grandmother’s, our relative would give my brother and I a dollar. And no matter how much time pass between each visit, she always give us a dollar.
She was a kind woman who worked hard and gave freely to her family. She cared deeply for us in her own way, but especially through her prayers. Though her story is still unclear to me, I feel as though I know her better and through her photograph I can revel in the love you had for my family. And that has been enough