Aquí hay una foto de mi abuela sosteniendo a mi padre en 197

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It's been a little over two months since I lost my beautiful grandmother. When I say the words "I lost my grandmother" out loud, they don't seem right, because a lost sock can be found again. This isn't just a missing sock. This is a huge hole in my gut, which will never, ever go away.


We spent my entire life together, from the time I was born up until a few weeks ago. When I was born, she was only 47. Since my mum was almost never in my life, she was the one who raised me. She did a damn good job, too. She’s the reason why I read and write so much. She was my mum. She was truly one of my best friends. She was my #1 teacher and support system. And I mean total, unconditional, "I’ll hide the body for you" type of support. That’s rare. That’s once in a lifetime!

I didn’t really want to write about this publicly. I didn’t want dozens of condolences to remind me repeatedly that she was gone. And I know this is not the place to grieve about her.

I’m supposed to talk about language learning and help people learn English. I didn’t think it would be useful for you to hear this. This is my shit. I didn’t want you to feel burdened with it, too.. But screw it.

I was struggling to write anything meaningful besides this,  so here I am.

My grandmother's leaving has reinforced something that I think we can all benefit from: the urgency of urgency. You don’t have time. You just, don’t.
Yes, you. Reading this. Go after the things and people you love. There literally is nothing else to do. If you’re looking for meaning, that’s it.

As a child, I always imagined that being born must feel a lot like waking up after having never gone to sleep.

So if dying and being born are really the same feeling, then I’m glad. I hope she’s already been born again and is happy. I hope she’s free.

I wonder if she remembers me. At least some part of her, wherever she is.. I know I will never forget her.