Weird thing:
Last night my little sister started up one of her little "confession" sessions with me. She goes through periods where even my breathing irritates her, and other times, she tells me shit I really shouldn't be hearing (I don't care what you were doing at his house, fuck! Leave me alone and let me believe you're still my 5-year-old little buddy!). However, this session wasn't so bad. We were kind of just reminiscing about the good old days when she'd start a fight with the girl neighbor who was my age, only to get her ass kicked by Neighbor-Girl and subsequently have me jump in for her and kick Neighbor-Girl's ass.
She then told me she had visited my grandma's tomb on Sunday.
"You know... I kind of took a detour on Sunday because during mass, they played that one song about the 100 lambs... and I remembered they sang that song at her funeral. Then I saw that tomorrow would have been her birthday."
I thought that was weird because on Sunday, out of nowhere, I too thought of my grandma. She was on my mind from early morning until the moment I went to bed. Right before losing consciousness, I remembered that Grandma would have been turning a year older on the 22 of this month.
Damn... ten years we've had to celebrate her birthday at the cemetery. I wonder if she had anything to do with my little sister and me remembering her birthday.
Today, she would have been 74.
She was my favorite grandma back in the day. It took a while for me to warm up to her, because apparently, I had a strong aversion towards her as a kid. There are pictures to prove it.
I don't remember why I didn't like her, (the only thing I remember disliking is the bathroom at her Mexican house. I still do. It's the creepiest thing in the universe... it gets hot and I feel like someone's strangling me each time I get near the place. My Grandpa and Mom have seen a little girl dressed in her white First Communion dress sitting at the edge of their bed a couple of times they've slept near that bathroom. That story only solidified my fears. anyway, that was quite the tangent) but apparently each time she made any sort of gesture at me, I'd curl up to Mom and scream "No!" Once I reached the age of about 6 or 7 I really began to open up to her. I still remember the little sound she made whenever I hugged her. I still remember her smell.
One of the pictures that makes me feel bad for poor Grandma.
Boo on you, baby AnoMALIE, for not showing your grandma love when she was alive and healthy!
She only loved me... and once again, I was a distrusting bitch who couldn't get away from her fast enough (look at the anguish in my face! Freakin' priceless!).
However, in my defense, I didn't like the cousin my grandma was holding. She'd always touch my face and poke me, and that was something baby AnoMALIE was not cool with. I'm still not, so never poke or pinch me.
My cousin's shoes I wasn't a fan of, either... those fuckers were heavy and she carried quite the kick.
I hope that was the last time I ever did that face to my grandma.
I still miss you, Abuelita Victoria. Y no se preocupe, todavia la recordamos.
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