Also known as Ima…
As I was perusing Facebook, I saw a post written by my mother. In it she describes her pride of being in America, her mantra of “Health is Wealth!” and the philosophical stones with which she has led a full and enriched life. Where did all these jewels come from that my mother holds so dear? They came from her mother, my grandmother.
Ima took care of me in my early years. I have since encountered many friends who were also raised by their grandparents, and there’s always something very special, very precious about these memories. Perhaps it’s true that all grandparents have a very special relationship with their grandchildren, but somehow I feel (like all children) that mine was exceptional, one of a kind, untouchable.
Her birthday was yesterday, and there are moments when I wonder what life would have been like had she not died when I was only 8-years-old. How many conversations would I have cherished? How much laughter could we have shared? Would she have been a source of clarity and understanding during those many dark moments I endured all alone? What answers could she have provided that would have made my relationship with my own mother less questionable and more loving?
From what I understand she was a razor-sharp business woman. Her smile would spotlight a room. She was extremely caring and very concerned. But I also heard about how she left. And remember the hurtful fights that took place between her and my mother as I sat on the staircase of our home in Mesa.
There are so many questions. And so many dreams. But all this leaves me with, are memories like floating bubbles blown out of a wand. Beautiful, shiny, eye-catching, and so fragile to the touch. She is a part of who I am, where I come from, and what I will become. And for her, I am truly blessed.