The Día de los Muertos Project

The Día de los Muertos Project

Edited by Luna Dragon Mac-Williams

para todos para siempre, con amor eterno

Theodoro Alonso The last time I spoke con mi bisabuelito, he talked about how much his land meant to him. Although he did not have a lot of money, when he finally bought his share of land, he had something. He gave his land to his sons but explained that most of them had sold it, and now that he was sick, none of them came to visit. They lived in the same pueblo but had forgotten about him. He started weeping. He wished he gave his land to his daughters. They were the ones taking care of him now. It was one of his biggest regrets.

Ariella Reyes, 20, Brooklyn

Nicole Bartz She had a smile that could light up a room. She was so incredibly smart, we all knew she was gonna do big things. She had the kindest heart and always wanted to help others. Then she developed stage 4 brain cancer. Even though her health began to deteriorate, her smile and intelligence didn’t. Even in her last few days of life, her smile was so big and her heart was so kind and she was so optimistic. She was always happy and didn’t let her circumstances bring her down.

My cousin, Nicole, will be missed immensely, but we know she’s now in a better place looking down on all of us.

Jess, 16, Chicago

Helena Boruszko “Babcia” Most talented macramé artist I've met

Carlyle Eternally strong.

Tammy Cimino “Mom�

My mom was the most amazing person you could ever hope to meet.

When she died my junior year of high school, I had to take over a lot of the responsibilities she held as there just weren't enough hours in the day for my dad to take care of everything. I felt completely lost. She had worked at my high school, and all of the teachers loved her. While most of them knew and cared about me from having me in class, they all knew and loved my mom. There was never a moment when I didn't have someone I could go to for help with anything, whether it was my Biology teacher making sure I had lunches at school, my Latin teacher embroidering a blanket for each of my family members, or my gifted teacher who would let me come in her office to cry. When I wasn't sure if I'd be able to walk at graduation because trying to get sixty dollars for a cap and gown seemed impossible, the man from the company my school partnered with paid for my cap and gown once he found out who my mom was. My mom could make anyone feel at home, and even after death she is still taking care of my little sister and me by all the people who remember her and love her. I hope one day I can touch people the way she did.

Kathleen Cimino, 18, Chattanooga

Ros Dixon I'd like to thank my Aunt Ros for, in many ways, paving the way for queer women in my family. She did the hard working of teaching my family to be loving and accepting of both her and her partner. In turn, I didn't question whether I would be loved and supported by my family as I grew up and discovered my sexuality.

India Dixon, 19, Berwyn

Ed Dear Ed, The first time I met you I hid behind my father’s legs as he diplomatically shook your hand. Mom stayed quiet before gently introducing herself, and Austin, too young at the time to understand the significance of this moment, toddled away to chase whatever had caught his eye.

My eyes were stuck on you. You were tall, for sure the tallest person I’d ever met. 6’5” and built like a tank, a remnant of your professional football days, and, had I not been a mere seven years old, it would have been impossible to miss the similarities between your face and mine.

When Dad pushed me towards you and said, “Go on, introduce yourself to your grandfather” I wasn’t sure whether I was supposed to hug you like I did with my other grandparents or shake your hand the way Dad had. I settled for a small wave. You smiled kindly and waved back.

On my eighth birthday, you send me a card that enclosed a five dollar bill and a short inscription that read “Happy birthday, next year we’ll switch ages.” That day I learned two things. The first was that your birthday was May 8th, the day before mine. The second was that, for some unknown reason, hearing your name made Dad frown.

I never heard from you again after that. Dad said you disappeared after your mom died, so overcome with grief you withdrew from the world. From us. You become a background character. We never really thought about you much. I mean, we knew Grandpa Dave’s stories of growing up on a reservation in New Mexico and his Native American ancestors weren’t our own.

Logically, we knew our lineage lead to you. But that was all you were--a forgotten stepping stone on the way to the making of us.

Three weeks ago I got the call that they had found you. You had been in a high-security mental hospital after beating up your nurses in your regular old folks home. You had thought you were playing football, the Alzheimers eating away at your coherency.

Aunt Jeniffer visited you right before you died. You didn’t know who she was. She called Dad crying, asking how you could forget your own daughter. He didn’t know how to answer.

Austin called me and asked how I felt about your death. I said I wasn’t sure, and he agreed. He said that you were pretty much a stranger, but also the man who created our dad. He asked me what that meant, if we were supposed to feel some kind of loss. I didn’t know how to answer.

Upon refection I think I do feel a loss, maybe even one worse than losing someone closer to me, because now I will never know

anything about you. I won’t get to hear stories of how you grew up, or what your parents were like. I won’t get to know you in the ways a grandson gets to know his grandfather, via long outdated jokes and wise advice only one who has lived a long life can give.

In December we’re going to spread your ashes throughout Albuquerque. Dad said you seemed to really like it when he was a kid, before you left. Since you didn’t leave behind a will we’re all left guessing what you would have wanted. I hope we guess right. I hope the winds take you wherever you wanted to go, and you finally see whatever it is you wanted to see. Maybe one day they’ll take you back to me somehow. I hope wherever you are, you get to see me the way I never got to see you. I wish you had known that all I ever wanted was to see you.

I’m sorry I never got the chance.

Regretfully yours, Your grandson

My Aunt Elaine I was largely looked over by my chosen Aunt Elaine as a child, as she felt like I was one of her children as well. The stories I hear of her always warm my heart!! I was told that she is my guardian angel and she can take the form of a dragonfly, because she used to love them so much. I had initially found this silly but everytime I saw a dragonfly, I had a stroke of luck. I passed my road test (when I really shouldn’t have LOL) and I saw a plethora of dragonflies on the Wesleyan campus which solidified my notion that this is the exact place I should be.

Keith Jones, 18, Massapequa

Carrie Fisher (Princess Leia) Sometimes, when I'm feeling horrible about myself, I picture Princess Leia- and she guides me through the situation with her chin up, because Princess Leia looks everyone she talks to in the eye. But sometimes, when I need her, I see Carrie Fisher instead: holding her dog, Gary, drinking a coke, and extending a loving middle finger towards whatever unimportant situation has me down.

Margaret Smith, 17, Chicago

Francisco “Daddy/Papi” I loved my Papi. He was strong, wore a mustache, and he would tease us mercilessly. About anything I didn’t realize was a sensitive subject until he brought it up. My skinny legs, the way I styled my bangs, how my mom burned herself ironing the collar of the dress she was wearing. At the time, I laughed at the image of my mom’s face as she cinged her chest under the pretty white and red polk-adot dress. My mom laughed and shook her head and and it made her look even prettier. If I knew then what I now know about my dad, I would’ve yelled at him for teasing her, for cheating on her, for disrespecting her. I would have warned him that pretty soon, he would not be so strong.

José Antonio Gaeta III I never got to meet José Antonio since he passed 13 days after he was born. Sometimes I think about how different life would be had he grown up with his twin brother and sisters. I try to remember that one day I will reunite with him and think of all the stories I’ll get to tell him of my life. For now I should cherish the fact that my other brother survived his early birth and remind him that he is loved by me.

Jessica Gaeta, 20, Gilroy

Andres Gonzales “Andy” Once, when I was younger, He was going to the store with his girlfriend and asked me if I wanted to go, so I went and we went to target. Target is already fun so image going with your 19 year old uncle and his girlfriend. We were roaming around and ended up looking at movies, and bought a couple. After shopping for about an hour and a half, we went to Starbucks. There, we played a game he ordered me something I’ve never tried, and I ordered his girlfriend something she’s never tried and she ordered him something he never tried. It was one of the funniest, coolest things we’ve done.

Alberto Gonzales, 16, Chicago

Grandpa “Дедушка” The thing I remember most clearly from before he reached the point of no return of Alzheimer's disease, when I was 10 or 11, is the way he always fussed over bundling up me and my sister in winter; I have a dozen memories, all alike, of him telling me to put my hat on already. After, I remember the way he smiled when I came to visit, when he saw me and my dad told him that I was his granddaughter.

Sometimes, in the first year or so after, he would even say my name.

Once, he read me a Russian children's poem; a couple of times, my dad pulled up Russian songs on Youtube and we sang along together.

Paulina Tarasul, 18, Chicago

Vicente Iturralde “Abuelito” The most I remember is what i saw in la foto The wrinkles on his face Folding around the corners of his mouth into a big grin His eyes smiling his terracota colored skin His hair so white It glowed Like the sunrise Un celestial being He is in Heaven now I think Los recuerdos que tengo a él No son reales It is just a picture I try to piece together what I can remember Trato de formar mi propio imagen Pero no puedo I remember having memories of him Pero no recuerdo the closest I get Is to an image of a mural i once knew A landscape Ocean dark, mysterious blue sky magnificent, light blue beautiful, glowing clouds

Celestial alto terracota montañas Sharp and twisting Bumps and ridges The rough, terracotta formations resemble his skin I remember the feeling My tiny, stubby little hands Engulfed by his big, rough ones There are people Jumping from the mountain into la mar Taking flight Cuando era joven He would jump off the big mountain And into the water He would fly down Then be engulfed And he would always emerge I remember just one part of The day he didn't return an announcement to the whole school “All Iturraldes please report to the main office for early dismissal” Iturralde is our last name, his too Normally if they needed me My older siblings, my cousins, and i we thought it was funny so many of us that they called us at once Only it wasn’t funny él se había ido

After that day I only saw His face in dreams I try to piece together what i can remember Trato de formar mi propio imagen no recuerdo Gabi, 18, Chicago

Jack My Guy.

Kee Forever Young.

Dan Kerness “The Best Music Teacher in the World�

I miss how you would sing the soprano part in falsetto and then laugh when your voice would crack. I miss the puffer vests you always wore even though it was far too hot for those. I miss the jokes you always made, and I miss your bellowing laugh. I miss you.

Katelin Penner, 18, Hastings on Hudson

Lola Lola was my dog. She had cancer that spread throughout her body at the end of her life. It was hard to deal with because I knew that it was going to happen. We brought her in to the vet early one morning to put her to sleep. That grief was one of the hardest emotions I have ever had to process because it really hurt my mom to see her go.

Seeing the pain that she went through was really painful. Lola was important to her. Lola was always there, wagging her tail, and smiling in a dopey little dog way. She made my life so much better and happier.

I like to think that each person and thing holds a specific piece of the universe in their life and once they are gone, a whole part of the world is gone. At least I have Lola in my little piece of the world, so it doesn’t feel like she has totally disappeared. She was a sweet little baby, and I hope I made her life a good one.

Grace Wilkerson, 16, Chicago

Luis (my French teacher from Venezuela) You taught me how to conjugate French verbs and talk with a proper accent and not care what other people think and you were so strict sometimes and so mean sometimes and I miss speaking French with you.

Ma Thanks, Ma. Miss you.

Barbara Mac-Williams “Ms. Barbara” or “Ms. Barbie” Barbara passed away on May 8, 2011, after our 14,651 nights together. I have trudged on. Because we had for many years hosted large family holiday gatherings, I was determined to continue that tradition. That first Christmas Eve, I was doing pretty well to get everything ready. In the steamy kitchen filled with warm aromas, my hands wet from dish washing, I reached for the heavy, nesting ceramic bowls. They slipped and dropped into the largest one with an ominous thud. When I carefully lifted them out, I discovered a perfect heart-shape broken in one piece out of the bottom.

Merry Christmas! I miss you still.

David Mac-Williams, 69, Chicago

Barbara Mac-Williams “Ma” Dear Ma, You taught me to love and how to be loved.

You showed me the importance of working hard in the community and in the soil.

You guided my pen and my brush.

Without you I have nothing.

I’m so thankful you are always with me.

Dylan Mac-Williams, 42, Chicago

Jill Horsley Malan “Mom� her favorite song was Leather and Lace by Stevie Nicks :)

Leah, 17, Chicago

Alexis Medina A detail so minute, I figured it’s irrelevancy was reason enough to never say anything. I was 6, she was about 15. She’d come over to baby sit my brother and I about once a week. $20, cartoons, and Caprisons. That’s all we did. I’d sit in the living room as she laid on the couch. I played will toys, and blocks, and legos as she watched TV. Then she’d suggest a drink to quench her thirst, a Caprison, we always had them stockpiled in the fridge. I’d follow her, running into the kitchen, and wait for her to grab two Caprisons. I tried my best to finish mine as quick as I could, but I was no match compared to her. She would finish in 20 seconds, max. Then go back to the couch and resume regular activities. I’d continue to play, waiting for her to call the fridge again, though she hardly did it more than twice.

When my parents got home, we’d drive her to her house. She stepped out of the car and rounded to the driver’s window. My dad reached into his pocket and gave her $20, no more, no less, and we’d go back home. I never told her how much those 20 second juice races meant to me, never told anyone. Though it’s verging on 5 years since she passed, and I still can’t drink a Caprisons without her bright smile and dark honey eyes popping into my mind.

Ria Medina, 15, Chicago

Jessie Moaton “Grandpa” Tune Of The Passing My grandfather is an amazing singer there is, No note.

No melody.

Or person that can cross his talent up He grew up with a stuttering problem so the only time he believed he could perfectly break silence was when his hands clutched onto a microphone as if it was the life jacket that would save him.

As a kid, I recall memories of me combing his hair while he sang songs I was too young at the time to comprehend, but I fell in love with the tune because of his voice Grandpa could hypnotize folks with a tone like his.

When my grandfather passed away.. i forgot what music sounded like, his voice played as the soundtrack of my life and when the last song came I almost felt like I was going to be laid right next to him. you lose all touch of reality, when someone else loses theirs.

And I cry over you as if i lost my best friend when I let you become nothing more than a stranger to me I walk throughout the halls of your house masquerading as if i really knew the person that you were I took advantage of time, I let you grow old and I grew to be more selfish keeping myself away. The saying ‘you don’t appreciate what you have until it’s gone’ will forever stay true when granddad passed I instantly felt like my lack of love is what killed him the most.

That when he died My heart began to dig up the soil in which he would be buried underneath The only time I seemed to make room in order to show him my love was when i made sure his casket was his favorite color.

That only a few weeks ago i made empty promises to visit you in the hospital, knowing that I wouldn't but hoping that by speaking those words into existence it would keep you alive for a little longer

That my even more lethal words would make your sickness go away I’m sorry that i was the reason for your untimely death I felt more guilt than sadness that night My dad announced the news of his passing like he was reading off the obituary trying to be as gentle as possible Unlike how my grandfather had to go out.

Gentleness hadn’t crawled across his hospital bed in months and it’s not fair i'm treated with qualities that he wasn’t able to obtain It’s not fair that a man who lived such a healthy life had to be taken down so harshly Cancer kills.

Not only does is wreck havoc on your body, but it destroys the person that was once within I hate that you’re last moments were of you fighting for your life and living in shame because you couldn’t bare to have people see you in such conditions.

And as grandpa got sick we got sick too.

There wasn’t too much singing anymore.

His voice was the healer of all wounds, But the only gashes he couldn’t bandage was the one tat was ending his life.

The most noise you heard was the orchestra containing the death instruments that surrounded him.

His symphony conducted by the fat lady who’s big moment was coming up, Who decided his life was over.

My grandfather was an amazing singer.. ...beep.... and as time went on he finally found the song that gave him a challenge.. ...beep.... the song of his that i will never forget.. ...beep.... the melody that has never left me. beeeeep.

Alycia Kamil, 17, Chicago

Moey We’re 10 years old. We run out to the field house during recess, its brightly painted flowers contrasted against the dull grey winter sky.

“I like the yellow one!” she says, as she catches a snowflake on her mitten.

We’re 11 years old. We dash up the stairs to our favorite after school club as the spring storm rages outside, thoughts of books and math and science left behind. We set up our oil pastels and craft our mountain ranges. “Cool,” I tell her. “You’re the only one using yellow!”

We’re 13 years old. We hurry up the ramp into the water taxi for my birthday. It’s raining, but it’s okay, because who can be sad about a rainy day when they’re with all their friends on a bright yellow boat?

“It’s my favorite color!” She whispers excitedly, as the boat pulls away.

I’m 16 years old. I walk into the synagogue for her funeral. It’s starting to get chilly out, but the sun is shining, bright and yellow.

Her favorite color.

William A. Moynihan “Big Papa�

After my grandpa died, my family helped my grandma clean up and move out of the house they shared together. In the drawer of his oak desk, we discovered eight 2-dollar bills. Eight for each of his grandchildren. It seemed like while he was alive, he looked out for us from afar; he sent handwritten letters of congratulations, called every couple weeks to check up, and struggled to maneuver sending emails and setting up FaceTime. But even now, two years after he passed, my little $2 sits folded in my wallet. I can still feel him watching over me, letting me know that he is proud.

Katie Moynihan, 17, Chicago

Lester Nefferdorf “Grandpa� magic tricks chicken nuggets coloring books worn out flannels cozy recliners indefineable laughs birch beers unconditional love

Edna Fontek Nirenberg “Ecky� a poem she wrote at age 17: A Sunday afternoon

By Edna Fontek, age 17 The clock ticks the gold away Another hour, another day In a sad staccato way.

Should it stop, I wouldn't mind, I'd never lift an arm to wind, I'd rather be a bit behind I love today She once recited a poem to me and my parents and then, dead serious, said "I just can't remember if I wrote that, or if Emily Dickinson did!"

if she was really enjoying a big meal, she would proclaim "this is an ORGY!" She was a poet, and loved writing and reading as much as I do, but I didn't really know that until her funeral. When cleaning out her apartment, her daughters found scraps of half written poems; I just wish I had gotten to share that part of my life with her.

Joanna Gerber, 18, Merion

Brenda Diane Norman “Grandma�

The best part was making shadow puppets on the walls of your bedroom after bedtime. The sound of vintage cartoons echoing in the background of our love parade. I kiss the smell of breakfast in the morning, warm summer breezes in the evening. I feel and miss your light immensely everyday. I love you.

Jay Owens, 16, Chicago

Miriam Pagan “Tía Miriam” Every time I walked into tia Miriam’s house, I gazed at all of her butterfly displays. The butterfly wind chimes at the bottom of the stairs so she could hear if we were running up the stairs, the butterfly stickers on the mirror, the fake butterflies on sticks throughout her garden. Anytime someone bought a gift for her there was a connection to butterflies, and it made her so happy. The day of her funeral, it was extra gloomy outside as the family sat and watched the casket be lowered into the ground. Everyone held flowers to place on top of the casket. Suddenly, we saw a big blue butterfly, one I’d never even seen in person. We all went silent and watched it. It fluttered, and landed on the flower my grandmother held. We all smiled, and sobbed. We knew she was there with us.

Jay Pagan, 18, Philadelphia

Anitra Rodriguez, Jacinto Rodriguez, & Inocente Rodriguez “Anita,” “Chinto,” & “Chente” Rodriguez My family members played such an important part in my life! They are forever alive in my heart!

Chicago

Norma Rowe “Grandma” I remember going to her wake. So many people were there, and I knew less than half of them. I didn’t know how I was supposed to feel, so I just sat down and ate a chocolate muffin (the food was unfittingly delicious). My mom, dad, (other) grandma, and brother all got up to speak, but I didn’t feel compelled to. After the wake, all my parents friends went out to a bar, and when I heard them laughing and joking around I started sobbing, because I thought none of them truly appreciated my grandmother’s memory.

Joe Radinsky, 17, Chicago

Miriam Shiffrin “Grandma Mimi” My whole family always made fun of my grandma because she was so slow. We called her the turtle. Whenever we had dinner at her house, she would always be the last person to sit down, and we’d all be waiting on her to start, because she wanted to make sure everyone had everything they needed before she even thought about herself.

She was one of the most selfless people any of us ever knew.

Stella Shiffrin, 18, Chicago

Edward Wayne Smith My grandpa was always my special person to keep me grounded and make me smile. He used to tell me the SAME jokes over and over and everytime I would pretend I had never heard them before. One day while I was visiting his home in Killeen, Texas months before his death we were all sitting in the living room talking and he stopped us all and began singing “Amazing Grace” to me. He went through the entire song looking at me and while, I admit, it was a bit uncomfortable, his words spoke to me in a way I never heard the song before. He taight me the power of listening and respecting the information given to you regardless of your previous personal connection to it. He always knew how to take the energy in the room and turn it into something worth being present for. He suffered from Cancer for a few years and the last visit I had with him before he died was about a week before I left for college. When I arrived at his house he excitedly got up out of his chair and swept me into his office for “something important”. In his office he handed me an envelope with the biggest grin I had ever seen him with and I opened it to find $1,000 cash. He told me it was for my education and that he was so excited to see me going to New York City, a place COMPLETELY foreign to him from his little house in a small Texas town. When I left that day he was settling down to take a nap and I went to him and held his hand while sitting on his bed telling him that I loved him and that I was going to miss him. Weirdly, I think I somehow knew it was the last time I was going to see him and I had a really hard time getting in the car to leave. He was one of my best friends and avid supporters in this life and I will never forget his kindness and compassion he showed me through my childhood and early adulthood. I miss him everyday.

Claire Domenic-Smith, 19, Houston

Louise Sullivan My older brother looks a lot like my mom, my younger brother is the spitting image of my dad, but growing up I was often told that I looked like my Great Grandmother Louise Sullivan. My great grandma died when I was very very young. I don’t have very many memories of her but everytime I remember visiting her house I knew I was in a warm and loving place. There is a reason her nickname was Lovey, you couldn’t meet the woman without feeling so deeply connected to her. Even now my very composed grandpa melts when telling stories about her. I have always wished she had more time so that I could’ve gotten to know her better, but in some ways I know she is with me whoever I go. Today I am fortunate enough to follow in her footsteps at Saint Marys college, her Alma mater, and I know she watches over me in my studies and beyond.

Ellie Lynch, 18, Chicago

William Thomas “Gramps�

When I was little, I lived with my grandparents in a quaint suburb house. It was there when my grandfather suffered his stroke, which changed the course of our family life forever. I was there when it happened, being awakened by the ambulance and the policemen that helped him get down the stairs. Despite this, my grandfather was always strong, wearing a smile throughout physical therapy and always checking in on his family after we moved away. When he passed away earlier this year, I was left to think about all the times he reached out to me when I was in low points of my life. He always told me that it was "Good to be Good", a mentality I still hold today.

My grandmother recently moved with us once again and while it is bittersweet, I know that my grandfather is looking down on us with happiness and love.

Sahara Thomas, 17, Chicago

Jose Luis Vallecillo “Pepín” Even though my family is Mexican, we've never really celebrated the holiday. Yet I remember in sixth grade we were doing a project for Dia de los Muertos in my art class. I remember making an ofrenda for my uncle Pepín and how the more things that I thought of putting on there that resembled him, the more I realized how impactful someone can be to someone. I began to reminisce about the memories I have of him, how my childhood was full of his presence, and how I wish I could speak to him about anything. Now, I still miss him, but I know he's in a better place.

Antonio Vargas “Tío Toño” Every time he would come visit me in the United States, he would bring me jewelry for me and my best friend to match together. He always wanted me to know he thought of me all the way from Mexico.

Amanda Medina Segura, 18, Chicago

Dr. Arturo Volpe I named my plant after you. Stupid, I know. It's a tall plant; that's why I thought of you. You were so tall, at a time when I felt so little.

I don't know how I would have turned out if it wasn't for you. I don't like to think about what might have been.

I know I will never get to say thank you. I didn't then because I didn't realize then what everything meant. I didn't understand what you were doing for me. I look back on who I was before I met you and who I am now and I'm almost brought to tears.

I would like to tell you who I am now. I can function in society, thanks to you. I can sit still. I can focus myself. I can control myself.

I'm happy.

I named my plant after you, so that I could have some way to say Thank you.

William Miner, 18, Houston

Eliza Weiss It’s hot in Rhode Island.

The sun is down, mosquitos fill the air.

We sit on the front lawn, knocking back beers we stole from our parents.

You’re dancing, Outkast is playing through the speaker.

You look free, fluid - unbound by the constraints of your breaking body.

You swing your arms and slide your feet and bounce your head and everything feels normal.

I know I got to say goodbye. You called us all to the hospital, the whole gang crammed in the grey speckled confines of the cancer ward. I saw you struggle to speak through weak lips, cough goodbyes through stifled sobs. I saw you feign strength. I know I saw you there.

But I don’t remember that.

I don't remember her.

I remember Eliza. My Eliza. Summer’s Eliza - the one who’d laugh and jump and shout at the moon. The one who'd run singing through the streets and dancing on the lawn. The one who'd grab me by the hand and lead me through trees and up hills and across rivers, who would build whole worlds with her imagination, then invite me to come along. That's the Eliza I remember.

I still miss you.

It’s getting cold in Rhode Island.

Trixie Piggy Weiss “The sweetest, gentlest dog�

We always said you had a human soul. You always knew when anyone was sad or hurt or sick and sat with them, kept them company with your gentle presence.

Shira Weiss, 18, Orlando

“Yipo�

I know you wanted me to study Chinese before you passed. I wish you could see that I did. I studied so hard, I fell in love with our culture again, I appreciate you and every one in our family so much more. I'm thankful for what you did for me. Whenever I study, I remember you and how you wanted me to learn so badly. I didn't understand back then, but I understand now.

Para las mujeres que han muerto cruzando mi cuerpo existe aquĂ­ porque el tuyo lo sacrificaste en el desierto lo sacrificaste al mundo desconocido te echaste sobre el agua y me prometiste sobrevivir el dolor que descansen en paz, las mujeres que se murieron entre dos mundos

She was a devout Buddhist. Her lungs burnt out after years of meditating in an incense haze. Decades of asceticism took their toll, and I just want to know what she spent her whole life atoning for.

gracias