There’s so much to say about 2020.
By: Pamela Ardon
Tags: Loss, Healing Emotions, Vulnerability, Pandemic, Covid 19

♡ In loving memory of Jose Luis Ramirez & Ana Maria Real ♡

There’s so much to say about 2020.

Although… I haven’t quite found the words yet. I’ll keep you posted once I do find them.

But I do recognize that through this whole pandemic, I had my family with me. Still do. And it wasn’t always fun, but I am grateful that I was with them during these times of uncertainty and devastation. Even though it was scary, we had a lot to celebrate. We had several birthdays, My sister moved out into her first apartment (which I think is a major accomplishment), my brother came home from college — so we had a lot of time to cherish him, and I graduated from college! Despite the circumstances, we had each other to celebrate the good.

But I was wrong to think that nothing bad would happen to us.

It was a steady ride until it all came crashing down towards the end. With the pandemic stripping away our everyday lives — from the simplest act of roaming the grocery stores or getting a bite at your local cafe— i realized how much I took life for granted. I always hear the phrase, “Tomorrow’s not promised,” and it never phased me because to me… that was out of my capacity of understanding the meaning of life and death.

Death was never a thought. When friends’ family or long-time friends that I don’t remember passed, it was devastating. But it wasn’t my emotions to understand what they could be going through. That makes me sound naive. But it’s true. The conversations were there, but I knew it wouldn’t be coming anytime soon because I didn’t let myself go there.

I never lost anyone close to me. Until I did. Twice.

I knew in the back of my mind that one day, my grandparents would die. My tias would die. And eventually, I would die. But never did I think it would all happen within weeks.

Hearing the news that my Tia Ana was in bad condition and a machine was keeping her alive… I felt numb. I felt sad. I still feel a little bit sad. But mainly, It hasn’t fully hit me. She was beautiful. She was one of my favorite tias to greet at every family function or vacay getaway. Despite her caring but back-handed compliments about my weight… I was her Pochantes. Pochantes? Well… my tia was very much into indigenous cultures, and the one thing she always told me was how beautiful my hair is. It reminded her of Pochantes’s hair — dark, straight, and long brown hair.

With this pandemic, I wasn’t able to see her. But I got my chance to say my goodbyes at her funeral.

One thing you should know about my grandpa is that he loves to talk — whether it’s about God, Politics, or your job — he loved a good conversation. We had many great conversations. And I still can’t believe that I won’t have one last conversation with him. Not yet, anyway.

But this one hurts a lot.

Shock. Pain. Anger. Sadness. That’s all I feel nowadays. And it comes in waves. One day I’m okay. The next… I remember that it wasn’t all a bad dream. That he’s really gone. And I miss him.

But what pains me the most is seeing my Abuelita deal with losing her life partner, her husband, her best friend, the father of her children, and the grandfather of her grandchildren. Watching her in the morning, pouring her coffee, and grabbing her waffles from toasts pains me because that was their everyday morning routine.

Good mornings. A little bit of bickering. Blood Pressure Checks. Coffee. Bread of Choice. More bickering. But it was their routine. Their every day.

Now that routine is much more depressing and sad to watch. I don’t come out of my room half the time until I know I won’t cry.

But I do sure miss him. And the cherry on top? Holidays.

If we had known we would lose him a week before Christmas and the New Year, I would have wished for one last big hug from my Abuelo. One last bicker. One last conversation. One last head rub. One last everything.

I know he’s in a better place with my Tia Ana and so many of our relatives. He’s probably talking their heads off about God just as we speak. But I know he’s not suffering. I know he’s okay.

Now, I understand what people mean when they say, “The ones who suffer the most when losing a loved one are the ones they leave behind,” and I wish I didn’t understand.

But I know he would have comforted me by telling me that it’s okay. That he’s okay, “y que pongo mi fe en Dios porque él es nuestra salvación.” Then he would have made fun of my mole, following with his loud but contagious chuckle. And I wouldn’t have wanted any other way.

Era mi viejito, OG Mr. Grump. But he was and still is my abuelito. ♡