Love like no other, Grandma FTW

Hello dear reader, I hope you had a blessed day. Today I was going to share more of my childhood with you. However, to be honest, I would like to postpone talking about something that made such negative impact on my life.

Instead today I will talk about someone that loved me more than anyone in my life, my grandmother. 

Her name was Ercilia, but she was called "Chila" which was a nickname that actually came from me. Apparently when I was a toddler in Peru while I was still learning to speak, I was unable to say her name properly, thus I called her Chila. After that the nickname stuck for her entire life.

Looking back, I knew so little about her. She was born in 1929, a beauty in her youth (she showed me pictures of her when she was younger a few years before she left Peru). She would not talk about her parents to me, and very little about the man who was my grandfather, except that he had been a sailor.

She used to be the proud owner of a beauty salon in her 30's, a successful woman before she got pregnant with my mother and her brother. I have no idea what happened between that time and us living in a building we rented.

I do know that Chila hadn't approved of my mother marrying my father, or the marriage to the German. Once I remember overhearing a conversation between grandma and my mother reminding her how she warned her that she had rushed to marry a foreigner; without taking the time to know him better, just to go to Europe.

Both times Chila had been right. I suspect that she had gone though some pains of her own, with her parents and the man who was my mother's father. Grandma was a source of wisdom, but she could also be stubborn.

The woman rarely would stand down from her point of view, and everyone with an ounce of sense listened to her advice.

Here comes the part which may be weird. She was also a "Curandera", a "Healer". She was a practitioner of witchcraft, somewhat. It was a mix of christian, catholic and pagan practice. She would smoke cigars, chant, use holy water, pray to God, Jesus, some saints and read tea leaves in a cup among other things. 

She would always keep her "work" away from us, always did it privately. Her clientele were usually women, and on occasion men. I'm certain she never accepted clients that wanted her to do harm to anyone, it was not in her nature.

I remember one night during a full moon, I went to the roof and she was there with a group of women, smoking cigars. She was telling me to go back downstairs when one of the women who was probably a friend of hers said to let me stay, because there was no harm in watching.

They would exhale the smoke up, towards the sky. There was some chanting which sounded as if they were singing a beautiful song. I don't remember the words, but it was something I've never forgotten.

I was her favorite grandson, she would tell me secretly in whispers, and always asked me not to tell anyone because she did not want to hurt others feelings.

When she left Peru for the United States, I thought she was going on a plane, and just land over there and then just meet her sister. After all that is how mother and I went to another country. Get on a plane, get there, go to a new home.

I had no idea that she had come here illegally, risking her life to provide for us. That in her 50's she had crossed the border from Mexico at night, then ran through darkness following a "Coyote" (a Mexican smugger).

I only found out about it once I got here when I was 18 years old.

To be honest, I was a total asshole when I got here, with reason. I had so many damn issues, because of... well the same reason I'm writing this instead of what I was going to talk about. I had trust issues, I was full of anger, hatred, felt betrayed, guilty and so much more.

I doubt my mother ever told Chila the truth as to why I had changed, But I got a feeling that perhaps grandma must have suspected that something serious had taken place; to turn her favorite grandson, into someone totally different.

However she was the same; always kind, giving, caring. Once in a while, I think of her and I tear up. As I'm typing, it is exactly what is happening. I wish she was still alive, so I could tell her how much I truly loved her, to thank her for all the advice she gave which I foolishly ignored for so long.

I thought talking about her would be easier, but I guess I was wrong. My heart still aches for one more hug from her, another smile, just to hear her say that she loves me just one more time. I know she is forever gone, but I'm sure wherever she is, that her kind soul is free of the pain she was feeling during her last days.

I need to stop now.

May you walk in the light of God.

Sincerely.

Luis