My grandma

My grandma was 91 when she decided it was time to go this past Friday, February 13. She tried it once, but the doctors brought her back. So she tried it again a few hours later.

Her body was done - hell, she'd had a great ride in it. She lived life on her own terms, not always conforming to the rules of society in a time when women were supposed to, and in a country that demanded it.

I found out yesterday that her favorite dessert was "crema volteada" - a creamier, richer version of the traditional flan, and one of my personal favorites too. I don't know what her favorite color was. But I can recall with pinpoint accuracy her smell, and I know the feel of her skin.

She was a sassy little thing, with white hair that crowned her head (something she passed on to me). She always walked with her head held high, spine rod-straight, attitude in her stride. We used to think of her as the "rules" grandma - we had to be proper, we had to behave... she wasn't the fun one growing up. But she sure was fun in the later years.

She loved us. Of that, I have no doubt. I remember her sending us a little bit of money for our birthdays, here and there - five, ten bucks. It warmed the heart to have her do this, knowing her resources were ridiculously limited.

At 69, she won a Merengue dance contest. At 70, she had triple bypass surgery and spent a few days in ICU complaining to whomever could hear her - it didn't matter if they weren't listening. At 71, I found her on a TV news report on assisted living facilities - most of her contemporaries were sitting for a show. She was part of the show, kicking her legs up a-la Rockettes in an aerobics routine that told me she still had long to go.

She wasn't an easy woman. She was fiercely independent (maybe she passed that on too...), and always insisted she could take care of herself. Along the way she fell a couple of times, once taking public transportation, and broke bones, yet she still told everyone to back off, she could handle herself. OK. So she was also stubborn.

In the later years, she started feeling her age, but her mind was sharp as a tack, and her vanity remained intact. Arthritis slowed her body down. Except when no one was looking, and back would come the sassy little thing, in one and a half inch heels, head held high. Her hearing deteriorated significantly. Some of it was physical; some of it was voluntary. I was held to secrecy on that one.

She was a devout of the Virgin of Fatima, to whom I owe a rosary in my abuelita's memory. She prayed daily, devotional in one hand, rosary in the other. The first hour of her day was for the Lord. The second hour of her day she spent in the bathroom. A fact that drove us insane growing up, when she would stay with us. But there was no rushing the primping process, and she wouldn't come out until every hair was in its place. We learned early on to hold the urge to pee.

A few years ago, my aunt and my mom discovered grandma had been at one time "Karina." A sexy, sassy exotic dancer - not exotic like now. A much tamer version. She also worked as an assistant in a circus. My grandma was no saint, but she was definitely colorful. The stories she could have told...

She didn't have an easy life, but that didn't seem to bother her. She was terrified of cancer, so God saw to it that she wouldn't find out she had metastasis before he called her away. Her vanity survived until the end, as grandma passed away gently in her hospital bed, never having to have suffered the ravaging effects and agony of a prolonged death.

I thought I had a couple more years. I thought she'd get to meet my girls - sassy, independent little things. I hope she can see them now and know that I will miss her smell and her laughter.

My grandma had soft skin. The softest hands I've ever felt. She rubbed them with lime and sugar to keep them that way.