We fail to realize how ingrained, how embedded someone is until they pass. My grandmother, known dearly to us as Abuela, went on to the other side, the side where no one really knows what, or where. The shock, the grief, is fading little by little. Now I am left with echos of her voice, short glimpses of her face, and feeling her skin.
With just a moment I can relive my time with her. She is not forgotten, rather she becomes part of my day, as well as my dreams at night. She has not left, rather she lingers on. I slowly realize that she is part of me, I carry her. This is not some sentimental thought, rather an experience of reality shared by many.
In time we can all realize this, and then we will be able to laugh at the things Abuela said or did, and in that moment she is real again, we see her, hear her. In the gathering of a few of my family, there Abuela is again, alive, cheerful, demanding, spoiled, and just plain beautiful.