Ruth Gomez hated the fact her grandmother treated her like a child. She thought this as she paced back and forth in the bathroom for the last twenty minutes. Abuelita always ask. “Why you not married? You’re of good breeding. You should have babies and not focused on school. That is for fat or ugly girls. Tu ese bonita. Go get a soldado.”
My grandmother is dead now and I need to write this elegy. I had to hurry up. The panic and anxiety I was feeling would be too late in the next thirty minutes when everyone would stare and want a prepared elegy. I can’t believe she is gone and I won’t hear her wisdom anymore. All the things that made her who she is, or the stubborn ignorant stuff she spews.
“I can’t say that” I thought from one idea to the next, none good enough to describe her.
She taught me to cook. Grandma always prefered my company over my siblings. She said they were less agreeable or in her not so nice tone, stupid. “Be a good wife” I could hear her words in my ear. She wiped away my tears when I got dumped by that cute boy I liked. She was there when I got grounded for cutting my own hair and always was proud when I came home with a perfect 4.0 GPA. It was the first time my grades were perfect or for that semester. My abuelita was my whole world and now she is gone.
What words do I say to capture her presence and make her memory seem worthwhile. I did not want this responsibility, but it is one of the best ways to honor her memory. There is no second chance or need to feel anxious over anything I have to say. She would be honored that I, a proud feminist Latina spoke up. She barely got a glimpse of the woman I was becoming. Fearless, proud, and refusing to fit into men’s ideas about me.
I am curvy. I am dark mocha brown. Grandma was there for me the day I got that bad perm. She was the one to teach me to drive. That was a shocking change to her firm tone to nice and reassuring words. The boys talked trash when I first got my glasses but she made me feel like a beauty queen. I have a slight accent from being born in Mexico. I wear my Mexican pride like a badge of honor. I will discuss the quilt she made me when she first came to America. I can mention her bravery of going out and getting a job without knowing the language of the people. I can state all the ways she multi-tasked instead of trying to be the perfect, ideal woman. She would have me and my siblings cook.
My brothers learned too. Not just the women. She was slowly becoming a modern woman. A feminist in her own right, just with a few conservative stubborn ideologies that I was trying to bang out her hard-head. I know the words. Thanks grandma, you are watching me and that helps me make this easier knowing you’re in a better place.