Rosa

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They named you after a flower. It's funny how I always found that odd, not because you lacked any beauty, but because you were never fragile. You raised five children alone, and there was not a day I ever saw you bitter.  I remember the picture of you, just before you married my grandfather, next to those camellia bushes and this image stayed forever printed in my head, like one of those postcards you send for love. 
I remember how we were allowed, when we were with you, to do everything. My dad would sit in the couch, reading his paper and he would never say a word about it. He loved you like his own mom, the one he lost young, and used to called you mother too. And your love was always big enough for him. 
I remember the toffee caramels you used to give us, the ones that glued to my teeth and that I promised each time I wouldn't have again, just to break that promise a few minutes later. 
I remember how you used to chase me down the property, when you wanted me to come back for dinner and I ran barefoot to the corn fields, that were higher than me and where you couldn't see me. I ran and laugh and I was adroit and you could never find me until I bursted out laughing and you would bring me up by an ear and tell my mum again I was too wild of a child. 
I remember how you yelled at me the day I jumped on that well, to save your dog that accidentally fell in. I understand now why you were so upset and I'm sorry. 
I remember how worried you were that I was a tomboy, and I would never find a husband. For this, you made me learn cross stitching, convinced, in your mellow conservatism, that would make of me a proper Miss. I remember your defeated face when the flowers pattern you gave me turned out to be the green house where you lived. Still, you hanged it on the wall and now that you're gone it is still there, the green fading away, just like the memories.  

The day you passed away I ran again to that corn field and hoped this time you would find me. 
I realize now how much of me is actually you. 
And today, I wished I believed in that God that you loved so much, for then I would know for sure that I would still see you again. 

To my Grandmother, with love. 


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