I had the most beautiful day. I woke up with the rising ball of fire that heats my room every morning and warms me into the sweet melodies of the song birds. With 2 pups at my heels I walked down to my neighbors' house and milked some cows with a few of my best friends...friends from around the world, who I've known for nine months, but that I've been with for eternity. Friends who pretty soon will wrap their arms around me and smile and look at me and say "goodbye for now" or "adios" or "hasta luego" or "take care" or "see you soon" or some other words that we know are just words that maybe don't mean anything or maybe they do, but only the years will tell.
"Your material body is not you," I have to tell myself. And while it is true, I know I just say it because I have already become attached.
Later in the day, I picked up my graduation gown with my girlfriends. We laughed as we told stories about our time here. I could feel my wide-toothed smile. Inside, it burned.
Then we hiked through a farm that sits behind the natural reserve by our campus. A local farmer taught us about medicinal plants. Native fruits. The hundreds of species of bananas. We climbed over a water hole. We drove his old jeep. We ate some star fruit. We reveled in how ridiculous this place is. A little heaven on Earth that I will never forget. The most sacred of souls from around the world stork-dropped into a blessed little rural community on the mountainside, where all the neighbors smile and say buenos dias. Where pain and hardship, discrimination and social classes, surely exist - but where community prevails. Where desperate, or confused, or bitter hearts burn forests, but where others plant life. Where the tree roots are long and thick and windy and the branches reach up and wide. Where there are more colors than holds a crayon box and more things to see than you look for.
Our farmer friend tells us about a beautiful green bird. How she taps the wasp nest. And then comes her mate and he taps it, too, and then flies away. And there they go taking turns to feed on the wasps until eventually they are all scared away. And there the mama bird goes and lays her nest in the old wasp nest and life is regenerated.
I am still smiling when I get home. Thinking of my beautiful day in both gratitude and gloat.
And the message tone of my phone sounds and I pick it up and press a button and light the screen. And the skin on face goes from taut to heavy and I can feel it hanging down around my eyes and my cheek bones and the sides of my mouth. My heart plummets onto my cold, dirty floor and the phone is a brick too heavy for my hand to hold. And I don't want to read it, but it's too late.
And I cry.
And I cry because I'm selfish.
Because I want more time. Because you are a person who makes me laugh and smile and feel at ease. Because I never had anyone like you in my life before. Because you give me something different. I cannot explain what it is, but when I see you and when you look at me, I feel OK. And when you pick up my hand, I like the soft, gentle touch of your skin on mine and I think I finally know what love is.
And when I come to sit on your lap, you lift your arms and you let me. And you don't tell me how heavy I am until your knees are aching and you push me off, cursing.
And when you yell at me or tell me the coffee is bitter or that I'm "so big" or to "shut up" I smile more because you are honest and real in an "I-don't-give-a-shit" kind of way that is somehow, someway still sweet, and loving.
And when I lay my head on your shoulder you pet my head like I'm a baby and I don't feel embarrassed.
And sometimes you drink beer with me. And sometimes you tell me stories about the old men that you used to live with.
And you always say "hi sweetie" when I call or when you see me.
And you always eat everything on your plate even though you don't like sea food and are particular about your cookies and you're not hungry anyways.
I cry because I am so very selfish. Because I want there to be more moments. I want you to be there when I get home. I want you to make salami pies with me. I want you to tell me stories about your childhood. And I even want to hear the story about when you first drove a car and when my Dad got high with your boss, even though I have heard them a thousand times already. And I want to see you stand proud in front of your white Chrysler or brag about your golf record or arm wrestle me or wash the dishes or sleep in my childhood bed and wake up at 10am and say you always wake up early.
I want you to be there at my wedding. I want you to dance with me. I want you to be proud of me.
I want to have a Grandma.
I want to have you.
And I am selfish. Because you are 95 and you have given me so much already and I want more.
And I'm sad.
Because I have never seen you weak. You are 95 and I have never seen you weak. Not one day in my life. Not when we have lost family members, not when we have struggled time and time again watching our loved ones, young and old, fight disease. Not when you have fought it yourself for the past 2 years.
I don't know what it means to see you give up.
And I'm angry.
Because the clock says you are 95 but your mind is still brilliant and your soul is still young and your heart still loves and your body is still healthy and strong and its just this one f*cking thing that is ruining everything. And you don't deserve it. And I don't want you to have pain. And I don't want it to be like this.
And I'm scared.
Because I have never seen you in all white.
Because you wear beautiful clothes and gold jewelry and red lipstick.
Because I have never seen you in a bed in the daytime hours.
You like to walk around and go to town with me and pet Sam and stand in the pool and play Rummy Kub.
Because you don't like doctors. You take care of yourself.
Because you don't like to be sad, or tired, or alone or helpless. You don't like our pity.
You are strong and beautiful and funny and active.
I'm scared.
Because I never imagined this day would come. And you can call me stupid and you can think what you want, but it's too hard to imagine something that you have never even come close to seeing as a reality. And you can think "oh but she's 95" but you don't know her. I'm scared because I thought somehow this day would never come. Or, maybe I thought somehow I would be prepared when it did.
I'm scared and I'm angry and I'm sad and I'm selfish.
Because last summer you played bad mitten with me.
And last week you said you wouldn't come down to visit me in Costa Rica because "you didn't know where the hell that is".
And last night I didn't know where you were.
And I don't know how to find you or keep you or let you go.
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On June 12 my Grandma will turn 95 years old. She has been fighting cancer for the past two years, diagnosed with a tumor shortly after she lost one of her grand-daughter-in-laws to cancer and helped her great-grandson fight his cancer and my sister fight hers.
After two years of being at home in her son's house, staying healthy and active, my family says it may be too hard on her now.
Please keep her in your thoughts and prayers.
And if you have any photos or stories or memories that you would like to share with me, please send them to posa.jaime@gmail.com.
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