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Para Las Nietas


Cuando se van las abuelitas, se va una parte fundamental. We are pulled from the brown soil. Roots exposed. We falter, droop. How can we continue without the cariño of their warm hands to support us? Nourish us con sus caricias.

Cuando se van las abuelitas, se van los almuerzos y cenas que no más ellas hacían. Las comidas that tasted of their love can no longer exist. The tacos crispy and brown, won’t taste the same. The flavor, like a duende, can’t be caught no matter how hard we try to capture it in our own kitchens.

Cuando se van las abuelitas, se nos va el lenguaje, porque ellas nos hablaban en español. Nuestros apodos como Güera, Prieta, Niña, Mima, y Mija se desaparecen. We ache to hear the sounds of our names from their lips and grasp for their words. The ones we didn’t know we would miss.

Cuando se van las abuelitas se nos va el amor duro. We lose the sharp tongues quick with consejos we didn’t want to hear at the time. Se nos pierden los dichos and the wisdom we fear we might never have.

Cuando se van las abuelitas se nos va la mama de nuestras mamas. We see our moms as lost little girls. We can’t hide from the tears that glisten on their cheeks, and the low moans of loss they don’t think we hear.

Pero cuando se van las abuelitas hay que recordar que nos quedamos con las memorias de las carcajadas y sonrisas, the warm embraces, the feel of their hands smoothing our hair, of stylin’ leopard coats and silver high heels they still wore as abuelitas.

Y, cuando se van las abuelitas, tenemos que recodar, quien somos. That they live on en el amor que todavía tenemos. The love that’s inside that no one can take from us. Que somos mujeres fuertes, y que viven en nosotras.

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