My Grandma’s Love By Rocio A. Palomino

My Grandma Palomino’s house is standing empty, after almost 60 years. It has only been about two weeks since her passing, so all of her belongings are still in the home, just as she left them. Now when I go to the house, it is like an empty stage, waiting for her to re-enter and resume her life. Only this time, she will not be coming home. It feels as if though the house remembers, it remembers just as I do, the mornings when I would go over to spend the day and even though she and my Grandpa had already eaten hours before, she would make sure to put on a fresh pot of coffee for me and to ask me “que quieres de almuerzo mija, avena or chorizo con huevos?”, I would almost always answer “chorizo Grandma, I love it!"

Those days were simple, peaceful ones for me, sacred in their simplicity. I would sit at the kitchen table for hours with them, sipping my coffee as they watched the Mexican channel. Sometimes I would catch Grandma up on what I had been doing since she saw me last, but most of the time we just sat in a companionable silence that was always a healing balm to my unrestful mind. After we sat for awhile she would clean up the kitchen and then she would say if the day was sunny “Mija, quieres ir a sentarse afuera?” She would help me get into my wheelchair and we would usually struggle to get me out the front door. “Watch you hands” she would say in her heavily accented English, as we squeezed me through the door. Once we had made it outdoors and onto the patio, we would find the sunniest spot to sit in.

I spent the time looking at all of her beautiful flowers while she was usually busy trying to figure out what her neighbors were up to. There we would sit for at least an hour or more soaking up the sun and tranquility of her beautifully tended, daily watered garden, full of roses and so many other plants, that their names escape me now, while their beauty and vivid colors will never fade from my mind. After we both had our fill of being outside, we would go back into the house where many times I would say “I am sleepy now” and Grandma would answer “go take a nap.” It never occurred to her that there was anything wrong with taking a nap in the middle of the day, it was simple, if you are tired then go rest.

The day was based on what was needed or called for not some schedule of propriety that must be followed, so I would get in my walker and make my way to the middle bedroom. She would tell me, “I will be right there to help you.” A few minutes later there would come Grandma to help me lay down. I would sit on the bed and lower myself sideways onto it and then she would struggle to hoist my legs onto the bed. When I was all situated and comfy she would cover me. I would sleep in that peaceful, safe little house for hours, because she always let me sleep until I was ready to wake up. When I woke up from my long nap, I would make my way to the kitchen where she and my Grandpa would be watching television around the table. She would usually make more coffee and we would have coffee and pan dulce, waiting until either my Mom or Dad, or both showed up after work. After they had had their coffee, sweet bread and a visit, I would kiss my Grandparents goodbye and Grandma would say “come again” and I would say “I will Grandma.”

Leaving to go home always brought mixed emotions for me, because I would be going home to a busier, louder place, with more to do. It was both a relief and a shock, because my home, to me, never felt as peaceful and safe or as warm as Grandma’s. It was as if the very walls of her little casita soaked up the love and simplicity of my Grandma Palomino. Love that was not shown in huge outward displays of affection, but love that was in every cup of coffee placed before me, every plate of chorizo or pan dulce, every word that did not need to be said, because it was felt in everything she did for me.

Losing her has been hard because I have lost that safe place to go, to recharge and bask in her love, when the world feels too harsh. It hurts, but I must remember how blessed I was to have her as my Grandma. My memories of her and the love she showed me will be forever in my heart, my new safe place. I love you Grandma.

Blessed be and Happy Samhain

Rocio

Writers’ Commentary

I wrote this short story about a week after my Grandma Palomino passed away. I remember sitting at my kitchen table crying silently to myself as I hand wrote this in my journal. I just felt that I had to get the memory of those days I spent with her on paper; I had to remember, because what is remembered lives. A friend of mine mentioned that to me in an email she sent to me offering her condolences. It is used a lot during this time of year, the dark time. As we Witches remember our ancestors and take the time to celebrate them. I am not sure but I believe it originated in the Reclaiming Tradition; a tradition which Starhawk began in the San Francisco Bay Area. I think I knew the truth of “what is remembered lives,” the day I sat down to write. I believe as long as I remember all the things that my Grandmother taught me, and all the special times we spent together, then she will live on. So I invite everyone at this time of year to remember their ancestors in some small way for not only will your ancestors benefit but so will those who honor them in the feelings of love, connection, and continuity that the remembering creates.