This weekend you passed, and I guess there was a part of me that felt you never would. When I hung up the phone I walked back and forth looking for the shoes that were in the closet. By the front door. Where they always are.
You were a good Nana. You combed my hair until I cried, surprised me with tiny nik naks, let me into your private candy drawer when mom wasn’t looking. When I was little you would bring me to the kitchen and pull out every pot and pan for me to pound on. Baby food and treats were kept in the botton drawer. The one closest to the floor and never out of reach. We are Puerto Rican and so our family is loud, large, and often in need of corralling. When you cooked it was in this huge pot, as if we were an army. Underneath the kitchen sink was a huge bucket of rice and you let me play in it forever. It was rain, it was snow, it was sand.
I don’t remember you ever spanking me.
I have this suspicion that your husband, the man my mom calls ‘daddy’ was the one that did all the spanking. I never knew him, but there are photos.
I hope he was one of the first people you saw in Heaven Nana. I know you got to hug the husband you outlived for so many years, and see your mom again. Mom says you’ve been talking of her and your sisters. She says in your mind you take trips to Puerto Rico, and when you came back you told her all about how they said hello.
You were over 100 years old, and we thank you for keeping us company so long. When I came to say goodbye the house was slowly filling with more and more of us who had come to say farewell. The kitchen was full, in your bedroom your son kissed your cheek, your daughters held your hand. I thought it fitting that one of your newest great grandsons played in the living room. What a family you built. This place is not the same without you. Please do not forget me before I see you again.