She was a typical Puerto Rican woman in so many ways that pain me to explain:
- She never went to school and was illiterate.
- She had ten children and raised them alone.
- She lived in Brooklyn, NY in her adult years.
- She was taught to serve men.
- She sacrificed her entire life for her children.
My grandmother was a warrior. A luchadora. She passed from pancreatic cancer when I was 11 and therefore I really don’t know much about her. I’ve been taught that she had a difficult life but she always kept a smile on her face. She believed that no matter how little you have, you always have a plate of rice and beans to give someone. That’s love.
As I transition back into NYC, the place my grandmother called home for so many years, I’ve decided that I have to collect her story. I will go back to her old apartment in Downtown Brooklyn and find neighbors who remember her. I’ll book a flight to Arecibo, Puerto Rico and learn about her island years, the years that shaped her beginnings. I will write her story because she deserves to have it known to the world.
I love you, Abuela.