My grandmother died. At 1:05 pm on Christmas Day in her own bed, in the house that she and Papa built.
I flew to the Philippines as soon as I was done with my oral exam for Host Defense and landed at Ninoy Aquino International Airport on the 21st of December at 11:15 pm. Ā We discharged her from the hospital and took her home the next day.
And she died on Christmas. In her bedroom with the faded, velvet wallpaper and her collection of perfume bottles. The same room that Papa died in. The windows were open, the smells from her garden mixing with the smell of cedar wood from her closets, and the Dove soap that she always used . The radio on her bedside table was playing an old song called, āCuando Cuando Cuandoā.
Tell me when will you be mine
Tell me cuando cuando cuando
We can share a love divine
Please don't make me wait again
And all of us had been around her bedside for almost 12 hours. Waiting for the inevitable. We heard her breathing change at 2:20 am. We saw her eyes close at 4:00 am. Her fingertips and toes turned blue at 8:00 am. We took turns holding her hands. Telling her we loved her. Thinking of a million things that we shouldāve asked and shouldāve said and shouldāve done.
When will you say yes to me
Tell me cuando cuando cuando
Oh my love please tell me when
All I could think of was how my grandmother used to comb my hair. She hated that I always went to bed with wet hair. She told me that I would get pneumonia. So she would sit on the sofa and watch TV. And then, I would get the comb, rest my head in her lap, and fall asleep as she combed my hair. And I had never felt so loved.
And now I was the one combing her hair, and telling her stories, and hoping that some small part of her could understand, could feel my love, my gratitude.
And then at 1:05 pm on Christmas day, Ā she died. We were all standing in a circle around her bed, holding her hands and her feet, stroking her hair and her face, telling her that we would be fine. That it was her time to go. And so she did.
Every day seems a lifetime
I was filled with a deep, profound sadness unlike anything that Iād ever felt before. But also a kind of giddiness, a lightness that I didnāt understand. Shock, maybe. But I had the strangest sense that if I only turned around, I would see Mama and Papa dancing on the wood parquet floor, with the sunlight streaming through the open windows, to the song playing on the radio.
I can't wait a moment more
Tell me quando quando quando
Say its me that you adore
And then darling tell me when
Till we meet again, Mama and Papa. Thank you for always, always making me feel your love.