This journey has been interesting to say the least...

I look at myself from time to time and I mean, really look at myself. I'll stop & look at my image in a reflective surface, not with vanity but with curiosity. I don't feel like the person I see looking back at me. While not necessarily a stranger, it's more like a close relative whose company you don't mind. 

The hair is still dark brown, but no longer content to remain hidden in the back, a few grays have ventured forth. There's a little more weight on the frame & the skin is showing signs of changing. (My grandmother was right, i should e used more moisturizer.) The eyes are still bright, the logic still fuzzy - while that hasn't changed, at 40, other things did. I became middle-aged.  

Age was always this nebulous thing to me because I've looked younger, and while youthful, I've always been thought mature for my age. I can honestly say I never thought about aging. Until it happened to me. 

The changes were so gradual, I'm still not sure when it happened.  Maybe with the first surgery? It could've been the knee that did me in. (I still think that was just 20yo me not thinking about middle-aged me.) There's the back pain from childbirth & a lumbar puncture. And the fact that now I shop in aisles I never ventured into before.  Aisles with products for things like "light bladder leakage" &  glucosamine for joints. I read articles on menopause & aging as if I were preparing for an exam.  And in a way, I am. A final exam. 

Aging is not a luxury afforded to everyone. It's also inevitable so why try to fend it off with anti-aging creams or Botox shots? I've had great role models for this aging thing. My mother & grandmother have not only approached it with grace & dignity, but they also kicked it's ass.  For the record, neither one of them ever used Botox..

So there it is. Creaky start up pains and all, this is it. In honor of everyone who has been denied the privilege of aging, go do good things. I'll see you in the analgesics aisle. 

Today is her birthday

They say there are three stages of dying. The first is when your heart ceases to beat & the last breath is drawn. The second, when the body is lowered to the ground. The third & final death is when there is no one to speak your name. I will fight off her third death as long as I am able.

This obit represents the last page of the last chapter in my grandmother's life but it's here in the epilogue that she lives on.

This obit tells you when her life ended. It doesn't tell you how she lived it or who she was. It doesn't tell you that when I came home, soaked from getting caught in the rain, she would dunk me in a tub to keep me from getting sick. It won't tell you that when my brother died, I got home & collapsed in her arms. She sat in a chair, my head in her lap, cradling me until I could breath. It won't tell you about the estafiate tea she swore would cure you of anything. It won't tell you about her devotion, her integrity or her love of orange slices & pansies. Or even how she grew roses or only wore Gloria Vanderbilt cologne. It won't tell you about the night before she died, in a lucid moment when she told me I was beautiful & that she loved me. It won't tell you that she was my touchstone & that not a day goes by I don't carry her with me.

She wasn't the Alzheimer's that robbed her. She wasn't the cancer that advanced. She wasn't the pneumonia. She was my anyeverything.

She's not in the words of her obit or in any pictures I could post. She isn't any of those things. She is in my every heartbeat & every breath.

I celebrate her life, not by laying flowers on her grave, or wishing her happy birthday on a social media site. I celebrate her by sharing her memories, by saying her name, by never, ever forgetting. She lives on because I will fight her Third Death telling her stories with every word I have. I will not forget. 

Her name is Arnulfa Gonzales Vigil. She is my grandmother.