I’m sitting on my couch with a box of Cheez-Its, watching Golden Girls on TV. If I’m honest, I’m so tired of being pummeled by life, taking blow after blow... I'm exhausted. I've never shed so many tears in a year in my life. Losing my Cita hurts so much.
I’m going to try my best to make this blog make sense.
When I think of my Cita, the first words that come to mind are kindness and love. She was everything I strive to be, everything I wanted my kids to see. Her kindness was awe-inspiring, radiating warmth to everyone around her. Friends and colleagues who met her invariably remarked on her warmth and kindness. It's funny because people often tell me that I smell good, that there’s something warm about it. That’s how my Cita always smelled to me—warm. I always thought it was perfect. Her hugs were always my favorite, and she made sure we were all wrapped in a good blanket of her love and care.
She loved cooking for us, and those meals were among my favorite memories. I'd wake up to the delicious aroma of plátanos, beans, and freshly baked bread wafting through the house. Each morning, I'd walk into the kitchen and greet her with a cheerful "Buenos días!" She would then teach my brother and me how to sprinkle sugar on the plátanos and dip our bread in the savory beans. Even as we got older, she always made sure breakfast was ready for us.
I could sit here for hours reminiscing about childhood memories. However, a recent conversation with my dad made me realize how our perspectives shift as we transition from childhood to adulthood. As kids, we eagerly anticipate the surprises our grandparents have in store for us. But as adults, our focus turns to understanding who they truly are—their life stories, the challenges they've faced that shaped them, their regrets, and their most cherished moments.
I've always been fascinated by my grandparents' stories of life in El Salvador. My grandmother's brother, Pedro, moved to the United States when he was just 18. Once he found a place for them, my grandmother, her two sisters, and their mother followed, eager to start a new, exciting life. It was challenging at first—they all slept on a single mattress on the floor. But as my grandmother often says, "By God's grace, we worked for the life we have now." She worked at a microchip factory for 10 years, starting at just $3.25 an hour. She even switched to the night shift for a raise to $3.50 an hour. Interestingly, rent in San Francisco was $250 a month at the time, and they managed to pay it every month through sheer determination and hard work. Her and my grandpa's journey and resilience continue to inspire me.
More recently, my grandparents shared the story of how they met, which is one of my favorites. They were coworkers at a bank in Santa Ana, El Salvador, where they worked as tellers and sat right next to each other every day. My grandmother’s father was very strict and didn’t allow her to go on dates. So, they took every opportunity to talk during breaks and lunch. My grandfather lived on the other side of town and would take the bus all the way to her house just to talk to her outside her window until 8 p.m., when her father would insist he leave because they both had work in the morning. My grandfather's dedication certainly paid off—they got married just six months later. When I asked about their wedding photos, I was stunned by their response. As a wedding photographer myself, it was unthinkable to hear my grandmother say that they never got their wedding photos. They had a photographer, but unfortunately, he later told them that he shot the entire wedding on bad film and nothing came out. They ended up reshooting their wedding photos two months later to capture those precious moments again.
But my favorite conversation with my grandmother happened just nine days ago when she had returned home from the hospital. My dad, my grandpa, my Cita, and I were watching a Rising game together. They spotted me on TV, taking a team huddle photo. Curious, my grandma asked what lens I was using and how my camera worked. I eagerly explained the features of my 35mm lens and even showed her the exact photo I had taken. I then shared my other lenses and their unique functions. She listened intently, and then she stopped me with words that I will never forget: "I'm so proud of you. I'm happy you're not at Amazon. I love you."
One of the most heartbreaking memories I have is doing my grandmother's nails (and trust me, Cita and I take our nails very seriously). She asked me in an excited whisper, "Ashley, are you going to get married?" I told her that we were planning on it, and we began to talk about what the wedding might be like. Every fiber of my being ached because we both knew she wouldn't be there to see it. I reassured her that she’d have the best seat in the house. Despite the heartache, I'm incredibly grateful that she had the chance to meet Alex and that she loved him. Those moments of shared joy and hope are ones I will treasure forever.
I can't put into words just how deep this pain runs. Knowing that the person I so desperately wanted at my wedding will now be watching from above with the angels is heart-wrenching. My kids will only get to know her through pictures, and that makes the world feel a little less warm. I'll never again hear her sweet voice say, "Feliz cumpleaños, mi princesa número uno," or share with her the joy of decorating my home.
There have been countless moments when I've wished for just one more call, one more chat, one more moment with her. As much as my heart aches with the desire to have her here, I'm grateful she no longer has to suffer. Watching her, someone so kind and warm, endure so much undeserved pain was unbearable. The only scars in heaven are on the hands of the one who now holds her.
I want to conclude with this cherished memory. I always loved my Cita's voice, and I could recognize it from a mile away. I especially loved hearing her sing, though the only times I got to hear her were in church. As a child, I would sit next to her, feeling the warmth of her arm wrapped around me while we sang:
"Blessed assurance, Jesus is mine
Oh, what a foretaste of glory divine
Heir of salvation, purchase of God
Born of his Spirit, washed in His blood
This is my story, this is my song
Praising my Savior all the day long
This is my story, this is my song
Praising my Savior all the day long"
I can't wait till the day when we sing together again Cita.
Te quiero muchísimo
Ashley
