Don’t Forget

She held my hand, squeezing it with love, the moon shining bright—just us.

Amparito (Upo) Marroquin, my grandma, my best friend, the love of my life. A woman with great heartache, grief, and sadness. Despite all those things, she was a woman with a heart of gold.

Our late-night talks are engraved in my heart and soul. Upo saw my future, she talked about who I would become, my talent, and my independence. Upo knew I would live a different life than the life of the other women in our family, she always said that I would be career focused and that my talent for writing would take me far.

Of all my moments with her, there is a memory, or better said, a lesson that I hold on to most. “Trabaja duro mi culonsita, comprate tu casa, un carro, no dejas que un hombre te mantenga. Tu lo puedes hacer solita. Y si encuentras a alguien, tiene que ser un sho de hombre.” Translation, be independent, buy your house, car, and don’t let no man maintain you because you can do it on your own. If you do find someone they have to be worthy of your love.

I hold on to her words with a strong grip.

Worthy, worthy, worthy… WORTHY.

How is it that my grandma saw my worthiness before I did? Sometimes I think that she is in heaven laughing and cringing at my attempts of trying to be an independent woman all while trying to find “un sho de hombre.”

QUICK MESSAGE TO HEAVEN*: Uh, Upo? The search ain't going so well… I think we may have become too independent because well... I am VERY single.

After dealing with an immense amount of heartache, I think of her. She claimed my worthiness, she held onto it for me, for when I was ready to accept it myself. I feel her every time I doubt my worthiness. I hear her loving and soft voice reminding me to keep standards high and to be patient because she knows it’ll find me.

Her spirit lives within me, her lessons attached to my heart, filling my body with each heartbeat. When I feel lost, her words bring me back to life, giving me hope, and calming the fear– replacing it with excitement.

Years later, I live by her words– her lessons. Sometimes wishing it’d bring her back, just so I could thank her one last time. I hope she is watching with pride as I power through this life, knowing my worth and only accepting the best love, including the love for myself.

“No se te olvida mi culonsita… No se te olvida”

Don’t forget.