I've written you bunches and bunches, but all the posts seem to remain unpublished. I'm ok with that, and I suspect you are as well.
My grandmother passed away this past Sunday. Just got up to do her usual morning routine, and in a blink, gone. It was all so quick. From the time my mom first called me to the time my brother confirmed what had happened, was maybe an hour at most. She, like you, was very pragmatic about facing her own end. She used to tell us that we would be sad, but we shouldn't be, because it was going to happen eventually, and then we would see her again later... and God willing, she would look like she did in her thirties. (ha!)
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Me, Mom & Grandma at my baby shower. I'm pointing at Zachary
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Me, Mom & Grandma at Easter
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Me & Grandma at Christmas, 2014
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Mom asked me to write the obituary, and I think I did a really good job... except I didn't know there was a character limit. Soooo. I ended up having to cut over half the obit out for publishing so we wouldn't have to pay a LOT more to publish. Which is fine. Because there's things like blogs, and Facebook, and all that... so people could read it here, instead:
Born October 30, 1926 in San Antonio, Texas, Guadalupe (De La Cruz) Ramirez went home to the Lord on Sunday, April 26th, 2016. She was preceded in death by her husband: Ramiro Ramirez, her parents: Secundino and Tomasa De La Cruz, her siblings: Cornelio De La Cruz, Nicolas De La Cruz, Andrea Valerio, Trinidad Galindo and Maria De La Cruz, and her grandchild Gabriel Ramirez. Survivors include sibling: Jesus De La Cruz, children: Alfredo Ramirez and wife Rosaura, Ramón and wife Maggie Ramirez, Rosie and husband Joe Cortez, and Ramiro and wife Dorothy Ramirez; seven grandchildren, and eight great-grandchildren.
A spirited and active woman, Guadalupe was never afraid to speak her mind. She not only raised her children, she was active in sports, playing women’s softball into her thirties. She was an active member of her church and community, often donating of her time and talents to help with fundraising projects. Known for her sewing abilities, she could construct dresses, shirts, pants and shorts in a single afternoon, and often without a pattern. It was not uncommon for a grandchild to be dropped off in one outfit, and come home in a completely different outfit she had made that day. Guadalupe was also skilled in embroidery, embellishing anything from a pot-holder to a grandchild’s jumper with beautiful and colorful designs. She was a gifted cook and baker, known for her sopa de arroz and borracho beans at family gatherings. She could flip tortillas on the comal with her bare hands, often making as many as six at once—and never burned a one.
After raising her children, Guadalupe turned her attention to watching her grandchildren, and later, her great-grandchildren. Never shy with discipline, all of her children and grandchildren knew the value of a well-timed chancla. Under her care, her grandchildren learned valuable life skills and gained a healthy respect for their elders. None of the children wanted for entertainment, as she would involve them in her crafts for church, turning what some would consider trash into treasure—and in some cases, birthday and anniversary gifts for their parents—all made with love, care, and careful supervision.
Guadalupe’s straightforwardness when dispensing advice was always delivered with love. She always taught her children and grandchildren to believe that with sufficient determination, hard work, and faith in God, they would have all they needed. She prayed a Rosary every day for her family. She will be sorely missed.
[funeral arrangement stuff here]To the above, I would like to add the following story, which I think sums up my grandmother perfectly:
When I was about eight or so, I was staying with my grandmother after school for some reason. It wasn't usual for me to be there, but my dad must have had something going on, so there I was, hanging out with my grandparents and helping watch my brother and cousin. I was, at the time, having some issues with a girl at school who had been picking on me. So we were sitting at the kitchen table, and she asked me how school was going. And I explained about the girl at school, and how I had talked to the teacher, but she was just messing with me at recess... and she listened for a little bit, and then got up to get me a cup of coffee that was mostly milk.
Then she moved from across the table to the chair next to me and said, calmly and matter-of-factly: "punch her in the nose." I was so surprised I almost spit out the coffee. "WHAT?" She balled up her fist and held it in front of me, "put your thumb outside of your fingers, and you punch her in the nose." "Um, grandma," I sputtered, "why should I punch her in the nose?" She sat back in her chair, released her fist and seemed to examine her rings. "you punch her in the nose so her eyes will water and she can't see. Then you can hit her again if you need to." I laughed. "but grandma, I'll get in trouble." She shrugged, "maybe, but she'll leave you alone." There really was no arguing with that logic.
For the record, I didn't punch the girl in the nose.... that year. She made it another year before I ended up hitting her... after school... in a parking lot... off school grounds... and no, I didn't get in trouble. Somehow it seems fitting that a woman who had cleared the bench in her softball days was the first person who taught me to throw a punch correctly. And now that I've got some real experience under my belt, I have to say she was right... if you punch someone in the nose hard enough, their eyes will water, and they can't see. Though I prefer to follow-up with a nice kick to the stomach (because if they can't see AND they're gasping for air... all the better).
But honestly, Nancy, there was so much more to her than her brawlin' ways. Yes, she was a feisty one, and yes, we were all a little in awe of her. But she also had a really cool salt and pepper shaker collection, filled with pairs of souvenirs we would dutifully bring her from our trips abroad. She would buy me opal jewelry and conspiratorially remind me that we were the only ones that were really allowed to wear them, because it was our birth-stone. She could grow anything. The house was always surrounded by a jungle of plants that had grown from the smallest clippings (something I could never manage). And because of all her work in the dirt, her nails were the strongest I had ever seen. I never left her house without a full tummy and possibly "a little something" she had gotten from Avon.
And while she had little patience for fools (or gossips), she seemed to have infinite patience with her grand-kids--I mean, she taught me to embroider when I was still in elementary school, you have to have patience for that. And she always emphasized that—in the end—the only person you could ever really count on was yourself, so you had to take care of you. What other senior-citizen do you know would do her own form of physical therapy by riding a stationary bike while watching her telenovelas? She was a force, like the embodiment of honesty and strength, all rolled into one little woman.
And faithful? OMG. She would pray a rosary every night. EVERY night. When we would spend the night, there were many sounds you would hear in that old house: the train horn in the distance, the whir of the box-fan sitting in the window, grandpa snoring (sometimes, if he was having sinus problems), and the quiet murmur of her prayers before bed. I didn't find out till much later that she was saying the rosary for us, for her family. She never mentioned it--that would be bragging. That's just how she was.
Nancy, keep an eye out for her up there, and promise me you two won't get into too much trouble. IWell, make an effort anyway.
