As children, my aunts always complained to my grandmother that my mother, La Lesbia, was her favorite. On one occasion, my grandmother got so frustrated she said, “I love all of you the same. I pray for all of you equally. But since Lesbia was a little girl she always has brought food home from everywhere she goes. She always brings something for her mom and dad. Wherever Lesbia is she thinks of me and dad. You ask about favorites? No one is my favorite. It’s just easier for Lesbia to show and receive affection.”
This story has stayed with me as my mother always honors the memory with her behavior. I remember travelling through Guatemala City as a child on the way to my grandparents’ home on La Ocho Negro (the black number eight bus). My mom would change buses close to Burger Shops, a chain restaurant, to pick up the pineapple and apple pies my grandfather liked so much.
As my mother’s brain weaves back and forth through her memories, she continues to think of her parents. At restaurants when we ask her if she is done with her plate or would like to eat more, she tells us she is done, thank you, and asks if it is ok for her to bring her remaining food home for her mom and dad.
My mother has lost the majority of her vocabulary and sometimes it’s hard to understand what she is trying to say. Yet, there are certain words and phrases she continues to say clearly: Hambre, when she is hungry; Vamonos a la casa, sometimes when we are already home; Mi mama se va enojar (My mother will be mad at me), usually when we are at a restaurant or store and it is getting dark. Then there is Dejame (Leave me alone), when we are pushing her pills or trying to help her go to the restroom. She says Mamita, no llore (Mamita, don’t cry) to the grandchildren when they are throwing a tantrum; and mala (bad) when she don’t like something; and Toy bien (I’m fine) to assure us that she is okay. And, very often, Esto para mi mama, which means ‘This is for my mom,’ when putting food aside.
We have replaced regular water with coconut water in order to keep our mother hydrated. Mom will not drink plain water, at least not without a fight. The brand we buy for her has been out of stock for at least a week and a half.
Yesterday, I brought home a different brand. I gave mom the bottle in the car as we drove in Skokie from her massage (my mother enjoys her massages, we are lucky to have an affordable center close to home) to my brother’s house. I notice she has stopped drinking her water and I as insist she drink, she tries a little and then stops again.
A few minutes later I asked if I can have some. I’m thirsty! I say. She looked at me timidly and says “No,” but smiling timidly as if joking. I ask again a few minutes later, and she says, “Mmm, poquito. Para mi mama.”
I’m happy she decided to share some of her mother’s coconut water with me and won’t take her initial rejection personally!
Abuelita Meches (my maternal grandmother) must have been happy in heaven today as she sent us a gift. Soon after our coconut water exchange, a rainbow appeared in the direction we were driving.
