In Loving Memory

Today at 6am, my loving Lita peacefully entered eternal rest. She joins my beloved Abuela Lucía (her mother) and Lito (her husband) as my ancestors. Lucía Centeno Mejías was a strong force and I hope her strength follows me until I see her again.

I wrote the following poem on April 17, when I was wrestling with the idea of not having her. For the celebrations, the phone calls, the photos that we will never have together. I knew I’d have nothing to say, just gratitude. My body will continue to age, perhaps I’ll become a grandmother myself, and I’ll still need her guidance as more than ever. She lives in her flan recipe, the memories I share with my cousins, the voicemails I kept with her laughter and the photos we did share over 30+ years. She is proof that a housewife is not just someone who hides at home, under appreciated and exhausted. She gave herself fully in love, unconditionally. Always present.

They Die

One by one,
they go—
the Litos and Litas
Of the world;
the grandparents.

Soft hands,
sharp tongues,
the ones who raised us
or barely knew us.

They die
while we’re doing dishes,
or in the middle of a zoom call,
or sitting in traffic.
or while we sleep.
No headline.
No pause in the world.

Just a phone call,
a silence,
a hole that doesn’t echo
because it goes too deep.

And somehow—
you still have to eat.
Still have to answer emails.
Still have to remember
how to live
with someone missing.