Today marks the 26th anniversary of my abuelo's passing. My grandparents were like second parents to me. In my entire life I was only apart from them for the first two years that we lived in Spain. Eventually they joined us and three years later we moved together to the United States. They always lived with us, they were part of my summer vacations and I couldn't imagine life without them.
My abuelo left us seven months after I became a mom. He never met his first great-grandson. Even though he saw him, his Alzheimer's was too advanced for him to even recognize me. It was hard to lose him but I still had my abuela.
My abuela was my best friend. I could tell her anything. She's the first person I approached to share the big news that I was in love when I was ten years old. She didn't laugh. She told me a story of her own. She was the best storyteller in the world. I know about my ancestors because my grandmother never tired of sharing stories about her past, even when I became a pain in the neck and didn't want to listen to the same old stories. She was an incredible woman who left Spain at the young age of fourteen, to move to a strange island in the Caribbean known as Cuba where she didn't know a soul. She learned to sew and worked in a "taller" (a modern day factory) for one "peso" a day. Eventually she opened her own atelier, had a staff of women working for her and put together various fashion shows that were quite a hit among the Havana socialites. She counted the Prio-Socarras' (Cuba's first family) among her exclusive clientele but that didn't stop her from sewing for the store owner across the street or making the wedding dress for my mom's nana. She taught me to chase my dreams, to always reach for the highest star and to study because "an education is the only thing that no one can steal from you." She would take me to church every Sunday, taught me to pray and I am who I am today because of my abuela.
My abuela left us nine years after my abuelo. She had the privilege to meet all three of her great-grandchildren. Her biggest joy was to sew little dresses for my daughter and shirts and jammies for my boys. I still have a lot of her beautiful creations saved, including my wedding dress, the last one she ever made.
Since my grandparents passed away, I had never dreamed of them until this past year. My abuelo still eludes me but my abuela has come to visit a few times, both to me and to my mom. This week, I had the most amazing visit and it was one of those dreams that I remembered clearly after I woke up. I have struggled whether to share it or not for fear that some of you may think I'm a bit cuckoo. I have only shared it with three persons: my husband, my mother and my daughter. But I have attended a lot of funerals these past two years and I feel this is a story that needs to be shared because it's going to bring hope and joy to a lot of people. It's certainly lightened my step and put a smile on my face.
On Tuesday night I had one of those incredible dreams that happens only once in a while. It was a bit weird, but all my dreams usually are. We were roasting a pig at my neighbors' house, the ones that live across the street from me. There was a lot going on, a lot of people... I don't remember anyone in particular, except my neighbor, the owner of the house. At some point, I crossed the street and went inside my house. My abuela was standing there. I saw her as clearly as I remember her, not when she died but a younger version. She was not alone. I couldn't see the other lady as clearly as I could see my abuela but I knew who she was. She was my husband's abuela Candita, whom I've never had the privilege of meeting. I've only seen her in pictures but I've heard plenty of stories about her and she was another amazing woman born before the turn of the century. She spoke to me first, in Spanish. This is what she said: "Me puedes rezar. Yo te escucho. La única que aún habla conmigo es mi hija Dulce." (You can pray to me. I listen to you. The only one that still talks to me is my daughter Dulce). Dulce is my husband's aunt and the youngest of her twelve children. She's one of only four still alive. Then, my abuela spoke to me, her voice soft and sweet as I still remember it: "Por supuesto que puedes hablar conmigo y rezarme. Yo te escucho." (Of course you can talk to me and pray to me. I listen to you). And then they vanished.
I woke up with goosebumps. I told my husband right away. I had to share it because I was afraid if I didn't I would forget the clear details. I even remember what my abuela was wearing, a long black and white dress, typical of her style. I know they came to answer something I have been struggling with this past year. I will share more about this on my next post.
But for now, I leave you with this happy news. We can pray to our loved ones. They can hear us. They will intercede on our behalf. After all, they are with God already so whom better than those that loved us here on earth to take our petitions to the Lord?
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