I always thought that when my abue died I was going to be beyond devastated. I used to think that I was never going to recover from her dead. Thanks to my faith, that wasn’t the case.
Last year she passed away. My brother gave me the news early Friday, and by Saturday at 3 am I was already with my family in Puebla. I was devastated to see my mum so crushed, to see my Avi barely alive, and to be home, a place that I refuse to recognize as my own.
I cried, but very little to be honest. I was upset I didn’t get to spend another Christmas with my abue, a Christmas where my husband could be present. At the same time, I was aware of how much mental and physical suffering my abue was having, and consequently, I knew about my mum’s struggles to properly care for her.
Although it had been decades since my abue received the Eucharist, I’m confident she’s in Purgatory. And that makes me so happy because God willing, I’ll see her one day. Since she died, every Holy Communion I’ve received it’s been offered for her: that her suffering may the temporarily relief and that she may join God in His heavenly kingdom soon.
My abue was the best grandma I could ever have. I think I’ve said this before, but if I’m a moderately decent person it’s because my abue raised me while my mum spent hours at work so she could provide for me.
My abue was so much fun, kind and also very strict. I love her so much. I only have happy memories of her. She loved me like a mother and I have nothing for thankfulness and love for her.
I know she was happy that I married such a wonderful man. I can’t wait to see her again.