Pancreatic cancer is usually detected at a late stage because it doesn’t cause symptoms. It’s also one of the cancers lowest in survival rate. It’s a deadly disease that took my grandmother from me.

My grandmother, who I also refer to as my mami, unfortunately was diagnosed with stage four pancreatic cancer when I was 7-years-old and living in Ecuador. I didn’t fully understand what that meant, but by the looks my family made when we received the news, I knew it couldn’t be good.

I saw her deteriorate. She went from being a large chubby woman who loved eating to a skinny version that I’ve never seen before. It looked like as if all her fat was vacuumed from her cheeks and upper body; I was able to see her bone structure. It was really sad.

She battled for months until July 11, 2003. I remember it clearly; it was a Wednesday. I was sleeping next to my sister when my aunt walked in sobbing and crying. “She left us,” she said to me, “Mami is gone.” My sister was still asleep and I grabbed her by her shoulders and began to shake her. “Wake up, wake up, Mami left,” I yelled. She woke up and began to cry. We hugged each other and shared our pain.

I walked into our living room and there she was, lying peacefully on a mattress wearing her yellow nightgown with her arms across her stomach, and a rosary wrapped around her hands. She looked cold and pale.

A couple of hours later we went to the funeral home and prayed. The mourning lasted for three days while family and friends from other towns came and grieved with us. On the last day, we all walked together to the cemetery while men such as the husband, sons, and brothers carried the casket. She received the traditional burial: in-ground.

I felt strange as if the world I once lived in completely changed. I felt lost but mostly sad. My grandmother was my mother figure in the absence of my biological mother. She taught me everything, from tying my shoes, to showering and brushing my teeth. I wish I could have learned her cooking recipes though; her food was so good. I knew she was my grandmother but to me, she was also my mom.

Even now when I think about this day tears fill my eyes. I will never forget when I used to get frustrated about certain things that I couldn’t do and I would say, “I can’t do it.” Mami would then call me and look me straight in the eyes and say, “Never say you can’t do something, never. Always tell yourself you can and watch you do it.” I keep this in my mind every time and remember it when I’m in similar situations.

Cancer is cruel and it doesn’t discriminate. We still don’t know what could have been the reason that caused her to encounter such a deadly disease. She was beautiful, inside and out. I can’t forget how humble she was. She would help poor indigenous people that were walking by and offer them food. She was always trying to help someone.

Writing this wasn’t easy. I cried a lot while getting flashbacks of the day that changed my life. At the same time, it’s needed. Remembering my grandma helps me remember her important advice that I can do it, especially at a time when I’m about to finish college. Remembering her reminds me of my purpose of being in this country and the purpose of life overall; to achieve and accomplish my goals of which she would have been proud to see.

I remember her dream was to see my youngest cousins grow up and especially to travel to the U.S. and see her sons and daughter, of which whom she didn’t get to say goodbye to.

In memory of you Mami I am writing this. I am remembering you today, tomorrow and always. I love you.