This evening my mom’s family gathered at a local funeral home, one that our family has used over the years. A Rosary service is being held, as is customary. Tomorrow will be the final service. The last time I was there was for my grandmother’s funeral. Same funeral home, same church, same resting place, the family’s cemetery. I find a certain amount of comfort knowing this.
After decades of being away, I was able to go back home to Texas with my parents four years ago and saw my mom’s family, including my Tio. He and my Tia were still on the same 13 acre property located in the outskirts of town. Wild flowers were everywhere, dressing up the pasture and capturing me. I was driving my parent’s car and had to watch out for the ruts in the dirt road while I delighted in the color surrounding us.
As we ate the breakfast that my Tia and my cousins prepared and I tried the chili pequin salsa she had made from the little peppers that grow wild on the property, we reminisced about the last times I had been there. They recalled when my mom and I traveled from San Diego, just us girls. There was a barbecue that weekend at my Tio’s house. As the men grilled the meat and the my mom and her sisters visited and helped my Tia with the side dishes, my cousins and I took turns riding my uncle’s horse. I somehow, managed to mount with enough momentum to end up on the ground. Somewhere I have a picture. A grainy Polaroid someone took just as I was getting to my feet, laughing in my surprise. To this day when we get together, my cousin reminds me…”‘Member when you fell off that horse?”
These memories take the heaviness from my heart. Thank you, Tio.