By Lisa Cisneros –

I saw my grandmother, Manuela, for the first time in six years recently.  She was visiting from Texas.  It was a reunion of mixed emotion.  I was so happy to see her and I hugged her so tight and kissed her so much, but I was so sad because I wonder if it would be the last time I’d see her. There are so many things unsaid,  so many things that I want to know about her.  But I’d have to ask my father to translate and I don’t want to embarrass her.

Every year the little bit of English that she remembers dwindles a little more.  My Spanish skills are almost non-existent from the few years I studied in high school almost 15 years ago.

When I walked into my aunt’s house, where my grandmother was staying, after the gratuitous hugs and kisses the first thing she asked me was if I was hungry. Just like a grandmother always does.  I said I was starving.  I excused myself for a minute and when I came back to the kitchen I was surprised (but not really) to see a huge plate of food waiting for me that consisted of an enormous roast beef sandwich with at least three pieces of cheese, a half (yes, a half) of a sliced pineapple, four sugar cookies the size of my hands and a pint glass full of milk.  Then she assured me not to worry. The tortillas would be ready in a minute. Only a grandmother would feed you like that.  I ate every bite of it.

As I sat there eating we just looked at each other and smiled. She said, “You know my English, not so good no more, but if you’re happy mi’ja, I’m happy too.”  I assured her that I was very happy.

I told her how excited I was for my boyfriend to meet her, how I talked about her all the time.  She said “If he no meet me, he no miss much. Twenty years ago, no wrinkles, better.” I laughed and told her she was beautiful, that she was in her prime.

I sat there watching her as she hustled around the kitchen like she always had since I can remember, thinking about times that we’d shared.  We were so close when I was a child before she and my grandfather moved back to Texas.  My grandmother didn’t want to go, her children and me, her only grandchild until five years ago, were all here in Illinois. But she went.

I used to spend every Sunday with her. I remembered our walks to the ice cream shop, the awesome turquoise genie costume she made me for Halloween when I was 7, so awesome that I played dress up in it well until it didn’t fit anymore.  I remembered my stuffed kitty that grew mold on it after it was left outside in the rain and how she magically restored it to just like new.

I remembered how she helped me write a letter to my parents the first time I spent the night because I thought that they’d left me. She assured me they’d be back in a few hours but I was adamant. She walked me to the mailbox well after 10 p.m. and let me mail the letter.

I remembered when I was 15, visiting Brownsville when she tried to teach me how to make tortillas from scratch so I could impress my future husband.  I was appalled at the amount of Crisco she used and thought if I cooked for my husband like that every day I’d kill him for sure. So I tried my best to learn in case that was a skill I would need in the future. But no such luck. I could never get my tortillas round like hers. Mine always looked like different countries on a map.  I swear I made Italy once. My tortilla had a boot!

I think of these things and I watch her and I smile. I smile like an idiot, like a silent film actress, so she will know how happy I am to see her and how much she means to me and how well I’m doing.  I smile with the hope that she knows how much I really do love her and how sorry I am that I never made more of an effort.

It’s my fault that I haven’t seen her in such a long time. I could have made more time.  We talk at birthdays and holidays but we can only say so much.  I’m always too busy. Too busy to make a five minute phone call or take three days off, too busy for life.  Being too busy is catching up to me.

The older I get the more I realize what I take for granted.  My grandmother is going home soon, home to my grandfather who is losing his mind to Alzheimer’s and as I write this I’m telling myself that enough is enough. From now on I will call her every day just to hear her voice and tell her that I love her.

But I know myself and I know how I make these little resolutions and then never follow through because there’s always tomorrow, until there isn’t.