Departure

"Now I understand" said she, with the rarest grin illuminating her precious face. A face from last century, framed with short white curls, an obviously ancient yet pleasant composition that revealed, more than her years, her extraordinary wisdom.

Nobody knew what she could understand. And nobody seemed to care. It was mother's day and we were all celebrating.

"Heaven exists. When it is my time, I don't want to go to a hospital and be on machines, extending my agony. I don't want you to worry about me. I don't want you to mourn: I am going on a beautiful trip. Just let me go. Anyway, it will not be the first time I die." 

My grandmother had been clinically dead once. She went into cardiac arrest. One cold morning, my mother found her unconscious laying on her bed. She was rushed to the hospital and when she was finally able to speak again, she told us this marvelous story about the Golden City. She remembered being there, resting on clouds hearing angelic choirs. She said she did not get to meet God, for it was not her time yet.  "It is beautiful. I want you to remember that place exists and now I am not scared of dying." But I was scared of her dying. 

She would speak about death casually, like planning for a wedding, a graduation, or any other event. So much so that it made me sick to my stomach to listen; I felt a black hole expanding from my stomach with nausea and a paralized throat that made it difficult for me to swallow my own saliva. However, I just smiled through it, not saying anything or even hinting at any of these feelings, I went on listening with attentive eyes and a smile and nodded pretending to agree. "Life is too precious. Take care of living each day. Don't let my absence stop you". 

One day she told me that she had dreamed of her parents. And her brother, who was lost at sea at the age of 44. There were her dogs: "el Silencio", "la Osa" and "el Rick". I did not think about that family reunion or its implications. She was my family and she was with me right in that moment and that is how I wanted things to stay. I held her warm hand, refusing to acknowledge that her soul was slowly entering a different realm. 

Then, the month of May was ending. We were busy planning for potential ways to celebrate her upcoming birthday, while trying hard to ignore the fact that she was preparing to die. "Nearly all of my generation has passed away. One must be really good to be the last one to leave the party. I am done with my party here. Now they are all waiting for me on the other side". 

There was no more denying one day at the beginning of June. She had been using the oxygen and not eating or drinking for two days in a row . Her care givers told us she was drifting in and out of consciousness. Of course she did not want to burden us with her death. She arranged things like she was going to travel: she packed her stuff and made postcards for each one. We went to visit her one last time. 

She was so happy to see us: her family reunited by the dock smiling for her and waving goodbye while she swiftly sailed away. I held her hand. It was not warm anymore. 

She turned her face away from us and fell asleep instantly. She seemed to fall quickly into a restless dream. She was panting and moving her feet, like she was walking. I massaged her feet. We were there, in awe and completely silent. 

Then she woke up momentarily and said she was thirsty. We asked if she would like a sip of water: "No", she said, "I want tequila. Go to Rigo, at 'La Cantina', and have him pour us some drinks". 

My sister rushed to Rigo's bar to get grandma her drink. She came back within minutes, all flushed and short of breath from the run, with some piña colada in a cocktail shaker. We helped grandma sit up in her bed and bring the liquid to her lips. She tried to sip, but could barely "kiss" the drink. She was not able to keep her eyes open. Still, she said it tasted good, or at least that is what I understood. She smiled and gently tried to lift an invisible cup with her pale, cold hand, as if making a toast. 

The afternoon was turning into night. The nurse came by and kindly asked us to leave: "Ms. María Luisa made plans in advance; she said you cannot stay caring for her at night. She wants you to go home and rest".

The black hole that had strated in my abdomen a few weeks ago had completely taken over. We said goodbye and parted our ways and as soon as we were out of the nursing home, the overwhelming blackness made my breath heavy and my eyes teary. My chest felt tight and my head was pounding. Halfway home, we had to pull over as I had to vomit. I was in a black tunnel and I could not see its end. 

When we were arriving home, all of our lights were off, as they were when we left in the morning. Curiously, the light in our porch turned on. As the the door opened , I felt a weight was lifting off from my chest and I could breath again. The blackness went away, giving way to a faint, luminous yellow and I was not feeling fear or sadness anymore. I was almost at peace. 

Then, the call came in: "She has passed away". 

It is life that we call beautiful. But there is also beauty in death. Thank you. Now rest in peace.