Abuelas

I’ve often written that I have the best neighbors anyone could ask for. The Mrs and I have been lucky to not only have bought a great house that we’ve turned into a wonderful home, but our neighbors, Pat and Mary, have been like family ever since we first moved in.

Pat and I spend a lot of time together. We help each other out with our honey-do projects, mow our lawns like a tag team, work on our cars, you name it. Most times, when we’ve finished our chores we kick back at ManCamp with a few beers and shoot the shit. We are, for all intents and purposes, best friends.

Some weeks back I learned that Pat’s Abuela, his mom’s mom, was gravely ill. She’d been in the hospital on her deathbed only to fight back to a reasonable state of health for a woman of 93. She’d been in and out of hospice as well. Sometimes she’d recognize her family, sometimes she wouldnt.

My only advice to Pat, having lived the illnesses and ultimately the deaths of my grandparents years ago, was to spend time with her and help his mom out on her care as much as he could. I know this has taken a great toll on Pat’s mom and can only imagine the pain of seeing one’s mom or dad succumbing to the years.

Every time I’ve seen Pat Ive asked about his Abuela. Sometimes the news of her health was that she’d improved somewhat, sometimes the news was that she’d gotten worse. We’d talk about his mom and how she was spending as much time with Abuela as possible, sometimes helping with this or that and sometimes just being there for her. Sometimes Pat would tell me some story or anecdote about her. Sometimes we’d just sit there in silence both thinking about our grandmothers.

Pat called me yesterday morning and told me his Abuela had passed. His mother had gone to see her at the hospice early on New Year’s morning and found that she had pased away in her sleep during the night. After months of ups and downs she passed on peacefully.

It occurs to me that despite the many many times Pat and I spoke of his Abuela, I never asked her name. I dont know why, really, but I guess that her being Pat’s Abuela is all I really needed to know. To me, she was simply Abuela.

I dont know her story. I dont know much about her life in Cuba. I dont know much about her life here in exile. I dont know what she did. I dont know what she looked like. I never heard her voice.

But I do know this: she’s my friend Pat’s Abuela and that in some small way makes her my Abuela as well. And she leaves this world a better place for the wonderful and loving family she raised and nurtured. I’m sure she must be smiling from Heaven above, admiring the children and grandchildren and great grandchildren that are all here and that make up such a beautiful family because of her.

Descansa en paz, Abuela. And thank you for my friend Pat.