THERE ARE moments in my childhood that have stayed with me for like, forever. No matter how far my road leads me from where I started, I thank my memories for always bringing me back.
I am the self–proclaimed guardian of traditions – I almost said Galaxy! – when my brothers and I were little. I participated in all the Roman Catholic feasts and I always tagged along with Mommy, my maternal grandmother. We were together for Night Masses at Christmas time, and the procession at dawn on Easter Sunday. On a day like today, November 1ST, we would’ve gotten up quite early to go to the cemetery to pay our respects at my grandfather’s tomb, which we would’ve tidied up a few days before.
It’s been a year and a half since she had passed. And today I remember her. Not that I don’t think about her often. Because I still do. And I do love the fact that I always see her in my dreams. In all those dreams, I’d be very much aware that she is already gone – she actually points it out sometimes – but each has always been a cheerful meeting.
And like the proper lady that she has always been, she’d say towards the end, “I’ve got to go.”
I miss you, Mommy.
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