My grandma Juana, my mom’s mom, died when I was 12 years old and in 7th grade. She’s never had the chance to see me graduate from 8th grade or high school and now, even college. If you ask me, she was taken from me and my family WAY too soon.

She was a fighter. She battled with breast cancer for a good amount of time and beat it. The happiness I saw on her face when she did was priceless too. She was also blind, but she knew me for me and she saw the truth in people before anyone else. It was like she had a strong sense about things you know. Her cooking was amazing too especially her recipe for Juanita’s Famous Fried Chicken (yes, she named it that herself). She was also a dancer making up “tile floor” dances to make all her grandchildren laugh. I remember coming upstairs to see her and she would always be doing one of two things: watching her novelas or singing along to Marc Anthony.

I also remember her coming downstairs every New Year’s Eve right before midnight with a bottle of champagne ready to bring in the new year. And I loved how she would curse at people who pranked called her. It always made me laugh, but that was her, and she always knew how to make the people around her smile.

I always remember something she said to me: that one of her dreams is to see all her grandkids graduate from high school. I don’t know why it was one of her dreams, but she always told me that.

Toward the end of her life, she often joked that her time was coming, but of course we all just laughed it off because she was still young, too young to die anyways.

I still remember the night she passed away all too well. Every time I think about it, I wonder if there was anything my 12 year old self could have done to have her with us today. I think about it and I cry because I remember it like it happened yesterday. I remember them carrying her out of the house and I remember how much my leg was shaking. I remember my dad asking me if I was okay as I held my hand to my mouth. I remember the look on my mom and my tio’s faces when the doctors confirmed what we all already knew. I remember the denial in their voices and my dad holding my mom telling her that this is real and trying to comfort her. I remember seeing my sister grab the tissue box in the middle of the table as she tried to stay strong and not cry. I remember how numb I felt for hours and I remember not going to bed all night, but instead staying up crying with my sister.

I remember going to school that week as my family prepared for the funeral and I remember my sister and I having to tell our 7th grade teacher about it. That day, as he tried to give us his condolences, I ran to the closet and cried. My sister came and comforted me, but I could tell she wanted to cry too.

I remember being at her funeral trying my hardest to stay strong, but I still felt numb. I remember my cousin giving a speech about her and crying. I remember my Tia’s boyfriend trying to make light of the situation by telling a funny story about her. I remember what I wore that day and I remember the place it was at and how it looked inside. I remember seeing her one last time in the casket and trying my hardest not to cry because I didn’t like seeing her like that.

I remember my mom driving my sister and I to school the day after her funeral. The song “Dance With My Father” by Luther Vandross came on and my sister started crying. If you’ve never heard the song, it’s about his father passing and how he wishes he could dance with him again. I guess that song did it because we had all started crying. My mom said we didn’t have to go to school if we didn’t want to, but we did. We were late, but we went. I remember not eating normal for weeks after it happened. I remember hearing my mom cry about it. I remember hearing my sister cry.

I also remember the day I finally let it all out. I went the basement in our home, where I often went to listen to music. I had taken one of my mom’s CD’s and I remember I replayed the same track over and over again. I blasted “Dance With My Father” and I sat there and I cried. I cried and I yelled and I didn’t understand why. I didn’t want to understand why. All I wanted to do was cry.

I try not to remember the date she died, but if I’m being honest I remember it all too well. I remember the little things, but there’s also things I’m forgetting like how she smelled and the sound of her voice. I feel like I can never get that smell back even if I did remember it and I also feel like I don’t imagine the right voice anymore. There’s always something off, but maybe that’s because it’s not what I really want to hear. Maybe I just want to hear her voice in person again one last time. Maybe I just want to tell her I love her again once last time. Maybe just seeing her one last time smiling or dancing on the tile floors would make me remember all the things I’m forgetting. Just maybe...but she’s gone and she’s been gone for a while now.

I’m now 22 and it’s been 10 years since she passed. Ten years and I still find myself crying every once in awhile. I’ll see something or remember something or wish she was around for something and I’ll wait until I’m alone and I’ll cry. I’m definitely better at waiting until I’m alone now to cry, but it’s still there. And I think around this time of year, it’s a little bit hard for anyone in my family. September 25th, that’s her birthday and so naturally we remember. She was a great person and a great grandma, and she left us way too soon.

She missed out on a lot of things you know, but if there’s one thing I remember about her, it’s how much she loved me and how much she believed in me. I’m older now and I’ve accomplished things and have been through things all the while knowing she’s up in heaven watching over me. I sure hope she’s smiling too because I really just want to make her proud.

Miss You Grandma, xoxo.