Today would have been my grandmother's 105th birthday.
I think a lot about my grandmother. She had lived with us for as long as I could remember, and she was always the bright light that shone in our family and the glue that held us all together. When she passed away, eleven years ago, it was comforting to see that her glue still held tight... even though she was physically gone.
She taught me that a life filled with family, service, and prayer was a truly good life. She also taught me to defend the things that were truly valuable - and nothing was more valuable to her than her family. She was the sweetest, most kind person that you would ever meet... so long as you didn't bring harm to any of her family.
I remember that she would pull me aside and ask me to play something for her on the piano. It didn't matter to her that I played horribly. It didn't matter to her whether I played Ernesto Lecuona or Elton John... she just really relished in hearing the music flow from my finger tips.
She loved my wife like one of her own grandchildren, and I am convinced that she has spoken to my eldest son well after her passing. She’s just like that.
I’m ashamed to admit it… but I’m not one to visit my loved one’s cemetery plots. They’re just… not there… if you get my meaning. Today, however, something stirred inside of me and urged me to make that special effort. As I sat down on the grass and looked down at the plaque on the floor, I prayed a rosary (one of her favorite daily prayers) and just spent some quality time with my grandmother. After all, that was the gift that she loved the best.
¡Feliz cumpleaños, Cuqui¡ Siempre te quiero mucho.