Today my father gave me the black rosary that used to belong to my grandmother, his mother. It is funny how every year at this time, the anniversary of my abuela Carmen’s passing, her presence is felt by me in a special way. As I held her rosary, I remembered how she caressed those beads every day and how I didn’t appreciate what she was all about until she was gone.
She and I were close, I was her name sake. Although, many say I resembled her, we had our differences. First of all, physically she barely measured five feet tall. Most of my life, since I possessed the tall genes of the family, I was looking down on top of her little round white haired head. She was very round; she had round fingers, round cheeks, a round mouth that always lisped when she spoke in her Spaniard accent, big round eyes the color of Cuban coffee, the roundest part was her middle from which skinny white muscular legs dropped to the ground and managed to hold her up- all together with age and grace. Every day she woke up, praying before her round toes touched the ground, then she washed, put on her stockings, put on one of her floral house dresses, pulled back her short straight hair, with Spanish painettas, one on each side, and she would go into our family kitchen to begin the day. Meanwhile, my abuelo Dionisio, would get up also, and his job, after making sure that abuela was in good shape, would be to consult with her before heading for his daily pilgrimage to the Cuban market. She might suggest a nice sword fish for our families’ dinner that night “Dionisio, mira ver si hay pescado fresco en la carniceria para esta noche”. She never had to remind him to bring home the freshly baked bread from our Cuban bakery which was next door to the grocery store that he would walk to on the border of our neighborhood. I can still see my abuelo strolling towards that store down our long block, donning his black Spanish beret, a plaid shirt tucked into his long pants, and usually smoking a cigarette. That was my abuelo Dionisio, compliant to his wife, dutiful fulfilling the families’ need for that day: fresh bread and some daily special that would become a part of our evening meal.
Supper was a very important part of our families ritual, no one ever ate unless the six of us were at the dinner table. I learned early that the dinner table was the Lord’s table. One dressed and behaved properly around our table, special moments were celebrated there, it was a holy place and when we gathered, it was a holy gathering. Our meals were very Spanish/Cuban, usually always included one of abuela’s Spanish soups with chorizo or pollo or pescado. It wasn’t until she became too old to cook that she willingly gave up this cherished role, being the one to provide for our home cooked meals. She took care of it all, I could not even help her clean the dishes, that was included in her vocation! I was not about to argue that with her!
Abuela Carmen was known for her strong Spanish character….but to me, she would show her soft side by doing things she knew I didn’t like to do. For example, although my mother always wanted me to make my bed before going off to school, I was very lazy and would not do so. However, on many of those days, my bed would be made when I would arrive later. Abuela never mentioned it, and neither did I, but we both knew. This was how she showed me her affection!
Advent time is the season I think of her most, she passed away on Dec. 3rd, a few weeks before my second daughter was born, now 23 years ago. In the end, she was in a nursing facility and I have sad memories of her crying out in pain for her mom. She had not seen her mom in many decades….having left her behind in Spain when she immigrated to Cuba in the early decades of the 1900’s. Holding her round fingers as she laid in her hospital bed, I noticed all the needle marks where she was being poked for blood work, I prayed that God would bring her peace. She died quietly one night. No one was around her….but somehow I have a feeling that my abuelo was on the other side waiting to consult with her on what they would do that day. Maybe she would say “vamos a ver si hay algo fresco?” She always had a plan.
Tonight on my advent wreath, as I lit a second candle, I felt abuela's presence again, who taught me that what is important in life is not what we have, but what we are for each other. Even in the end, abuela Carmen called out for her mom’s love, after many years of not having her. She yearned for a maternal love that only mothers and grandmothers can express. Today I also yearned for my abuela’s presence and I realized it is the Solemn Feast of the Immaculate Conception. My abuela was very close with our Lord's mom, Mary. I wonder if perhaps that was to whom she was crying out to for comfort and rest? How fitting that today was the day my dad chose to pass on to me her rosary. I took it in my hands and remembered her love of prayer, her love of Jesus and his holy mother and her passionate faith in God. Tonight she would have reminded me to pray to our blessed Virgin Mary for comfort and guidance. After all, abuela always had a plan!
No comments:
Post a Comment