Mi Abuela (My Grandmother)

Mi Abuela died today although in a way she had departed years ago. Her longtime disease not only affected her memory, but her ability to talk, walk or lead any sort of human existence. I saw her for the last time during the summer of 2010. I sat by her and caressed her head while telling her stories from her youth; she glanced at me for an instant before getting back into her permanent state of oblivion. As I was growing up, Mi Abuela represented many things to me, she was the closest connection I had to my father, an example of generosity, femininity and elegance, a strong advocate for my education and the reason I was so spoiled. She was the only person I know to wear red lipstick and spray Chanel #5 before going to bed; she was beautiful. She also was the only person I know to get so much pleasure from giving herself and anything she had for the well-being of others. "You should get rid of the old if you want new and better things to come", she used to tell me as she de-cluttered the house. She was obsessed with cleanliness. My fondest memories from childhood are those times at her house; large family gatherings, debate conversations at the kitchen, exploring her closet, playing with my cousins and staying over to have the opportunity to sleep hugging her (and her Doberman). "Promise me two things, that you won't marry young; you need to study and enjoy your life before committing to a man," she asked me repeatedly. "The second thing is that you should never pluck your eyebrows; they are beautiful just the way they are." I have kept my word for the first one, but have diligently dismissed her second request. I have to confess that I feel some kind of guilt every time I visit the Indian beauty parlor by my house.

It was a sunny day in New York and even when the wind reminded me the winter is not over yet, walking around the Farmer's Market at Union Square made me feel nostalgic for all the days I've been out traveling. Capuchi and I sat at a bench in Washington Square Park while a man played Black. "I've never heard a street musician playing Pearl Jam before" I told Capuchi, "they mostly play music form the 1970's. Do you think this is because we are getting older?" We might. Living in New York is deceiving about age; you will always find someone younger that has settled and seems more mature than yourself, and someone older that hasn't assimilated adulthood. Some of my girl friends are considering motherhood and Georgina has suggested that I freeze my eggs just in case. "I still struggle to feel as a director at my job, I feel too young" I mentioned to Josefa over brunch today. "Brenda, we need to stop underestimating our experience. Men dream high and women try to stick closer to the ground. We should dream too." I guess we can dream and keep the quality to become unassuming leaders.