In less than a week, Thanksgiving will be here. My family is not the kind that experiences conflict over holidays meals. As I mentioned previously, I'm half Hispanic and almost all of that side of my family lives within a couple blocks of each other. As you may imagine we are very close. By close I mean we are all up in each others business at all times (or so it often feels). Since we tight-knit, family dinners throughout the year are a regular occurrence. Thanksgiving dinner isn't particularly stressful for us. Usually I look forward to Thanksgiving with my family because after all the stress of helping my mother get there "on time," I enjoy my being there.
This year will be different. This year will be difficult. This year will be the first Thanksgiving without my Puna. He was my mother's father. Until this year, I would go over to my grandparent's house early Thanksgiving morning with my cousins and prepare the turkey under his guidance. My cousins and I would all hang out and be obnoxious toward each other like the tight-knit family we are. My Grammy would make the stuffing while we prepared the bird. My Puna would usually get the foil ready with his meticulous technique. Over the years I took this over for him but he would still double check my work and give plenty of advice on whether or not I'm doing it correctly. After we finally got the bird into the oven, we would all sit down to have a breakfast of soft boiled eggs and biscuits. This was our routine for 15 years and this will be the first year completely without him.
This is why I am dreading Thanksgiving. I don't like change and this is a massive one. One that I have no control over. One that I will have to live through.
Friday, November 20, 2015
Friday, December 28, 2012
New Blog
I've decided to create a blog about my personal experiences with loss. This is not a cry for help; I'm not suicidal. This is mostly an outlet for me. If you can find some type of comfort from what I write all the better. Some of what I share will be light, ridiculous, and even embarrassing, others will be more personal and somber.
Today I visited my family at our plot. I went to clear my head and visit my family since I hadn't yet seen them for the holidays. On my way over, I dropped by Trader Joe's and picked up a bundle of tulips for each grave site.
It's at a Catholic cemetery in the middle of an urban city with a large Hispanic population. Upon entering the cemetery I was greeted by a sea of shimmering, decked out Christmas trees, poinsettias, wreaths, and bouquets. I made my way over to where my family is interred. When I found their headstones and saw the bare grass below it kind of made me sad. As a half-Hispanic woman I felt like my family and I had under represented and kind of let my relatives down. Hispanics are known for celebrating their dead. In some ways, I feel that their celebrating helps to fill the loss and keeps us connected to those we love.
Sitting in the grass, listening to an album that used to be my God father's, I realized that having these plots is meant to keep our memory alive. To have physical proof that we were here, we existed and we mattered. I understand much better why my grandma has made it such a big deal to go to the cemetery. I plan to try to go with her as often as I can. Additionally, I am going to make sure that my family will have some decorations and flowers for next year's Christmas season.
Today I visited my family at our plot. I went to clear my head and visit my family since I hadn't yet seen them for the holidays. On my way over, I dropped by Trader Joe's and picked up a bundle of tulips for each grave site.
It's at a Catholic cemetery in the middle of an urban city with a large Hispanic population. Upon entering the cemetery I was greeted by a sea of shimmering, decked out Christmas trees, poinsettias, wreaths, and bouquets. I made my way over to where my family is interred. When I found their headstones and saw the bare grass below it kind of made me sad. As a half-Hispanic woman I felt like my family and I had under represented and kind of let my relatives down. Hispanics are known for celebrating their dead. In some ways, I feel that their celebrating helps to fill the loss and keeps us connected to those we love.
Sitting in the grass, listening to an album that used to be my God father's, I realized that having these plots is meant to keep our memory alive. To have physical proof that we were here, we existed and we mattered. I understand much better why my grandma has made it such a big deal to go to the cemetery. I plan to try to go with her as often as I can. Additionally, I am going to make sure that my family will have some decorations and flowers for next year's Christmas season.
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