Losing Eloise
   On the beaches of San Diego was where I felt serene. My great
grandfather's apartment complex stood nearby La Jolla shores, across the
street from a small market. MoMo Rafael or Gmo was what we called him. Our
trips to San Diego came rarely, yet my memory seems to hold dearly the
times spent at the coves, scanning the shores for sand dollars, or wading
in the salty waters of the ocean. The last time I had been, I had felt an
absence.
    It was late, the sky a misty blue, as we sat in the hard plastic
chairs of gate 8, waiting to board southwest airlines, I wrestled trying
to get comfortable. Airports were an impossible place to take a decent
nap. My fight with the armrest was unsuccessful, and all other attempts
burdened by suitcases and luggage. Instead, I peered out the large glass
window, the one that allows you access to the sight of planes departing.
Gazing at the still planes, made me realize it was true. My great
grandmother was dead. MeMa Eloise, is what we called her. Like those
planes that slowly dragged across the pavement and propelled into the air,
she too, was gone. Even with, coughs of old men in trench coats, buzzing
of headphones, clacking of stiletto shoes, high ringing of cell phones and
the beaming voice of the intercom, the only thing I could hear was my
great grandfather’s voice, yet he was not even there. For some reason,
when thinking of the deceased, our minds always, seem to picture the very
last moment we saw them. Mine, was at my great
grandfather’s apartment complex in La Jolla, San Diego.
   There she was sitting on the sofa with a blank stare, as my great
grandfather funneled
mashed potatoes into her mouth. This was a systematic routine. Mashed
Potatoes. Lift napkin. Pat the mouth. Mashed Potatoes. Still, although her
mind was gone, she never lost her grace and poise. The flowered visor
created a shadow on her face and gleam in the right lense of her glasses.
She sat, stiff, back straight, opening her robotic mouth once in a while
for food. The Alzheimer ate at MeMa Eloise’s brain until she could not
speak. Occasionally she muttered broken words as her body shivered. She
could not eat, sleep, walk, use the bathroom, without my Gmo. That was the
last time, I saw her.
   Still I gazed at the window, I watched a man in earmuffs wave orange
wands that glowed like star wars light sabers, in front of the Hawaiian
airline plane. The rear of the plane was covered in purple, and plastered
on one of the wings in a purple silhouette was a woman looking towards the
sky. In her hair there was an orange flower. As the plane twisted the man
stepped out of the planes path. Beside me, my sister sat writing in her
pale notebook, bobbing her head to the mysterious sounds coming out of her
headphones. On the opposite side, my grandmother sat reading. She was
petite. It didn’t seem to bother her that a man was talking loudly two
seats away from her. She was calm in her red corduroy jacket and slim high
waisted gap jeans. Although the passing of her mother took place almost
two years ago, it was pounding in my mind. Her reaction to the death was
the most memorable. I can never forget that look in her eye.
While in the cemetery I did not feel the cold stare of ghosts, nor
whispers of spirits. I did not feel discomfort, shame nor emptiness. There
were no black clouds in the sky. I simply sat on the stony benches, near
the trees looking out at thousands of gravestones. My face was dry, yet
across from me my grandmother’s was not. The day of MeMa Eloise’s funeral,
tears did not stream down her face, it was pain. At the time I did not
understand why she cried. I watched her glassy eyed and the question
picked at me. Did her tears spill because of her mothers absence or the
thought of it? The emotions tucked within her secret bag had been pulled
out by death. Even beneath the most comical character, was a haven for
sadness. My grandmother concealed hers well.
Attention passengers of gate eight, the flight to San Diego, California
will now be boarding. Ok Milani and Cherie, let’s get ready to go.
A sigh of relief came over me. No longer did I have to smell the scent of
fast food and cheap
souvenirs, and maybe, just maybe, I could get some shut eye on the plane.
My grandmother pranced to the front of the line as she checked her watch.
She was always on time and therefore expected the plane to be on time too.
As we began to board, I was greeted by a young blonde woman, whose smile
looked as if it was cemented on her face.
Welcome, and enjoy your flight.
As I walked down the runway, heading toward the entrance of the plane. I
thought about my Gmo and our last conversation over the phone.
Gmo?
Hi Cherie, how are you.
I'm good.
How is school?
Pretty good...
And Milani...?
Great.
I am so proud of you girls, Licita is always telling me wonderful things
about you girls.
How are you Gmo?
I'm fine, Licita tells me that you and Milani are coming to visit me soon.
Yep...I can’t wait, I will see you then Gmo.
Hello?
I said I’ll see you then Gmo.
Ok, I love you Cherie.
Love you too Gmo.
I sensed loneliness in his voice, it was soft and muffled. Closer to the
plane entrance I wondered about La Jolla. I hadn't been  since the passing
of MeMa. Gmo took her to the beach almost everyday, before May 13th, the
day she died. I wondered if she remembered what is was like to watch the
sunset, while lying in the sand. I wondered, if this is what its like, to
rest in peace.



To us the sun slowly disappears below the ocean. The golden nova, seeps
away, soothing and calm, gently falling. We do not know where it goes.
Slowly it departs from our eye. No longer is
the surface illuminated, the day has shifted into darkness.