Too little, too late...

I saw my grandmother, Manuela, for the first time in six years on Saturday. 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 so sad because I wonder if it’s the last time I’ll see her and 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 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, 4 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 mija, 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 5 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 3 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 and from now on I will call her everyday 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.