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Chapter 9. Looking Back
- University of Arizona Press
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190 9 Looking Back La muerte es lo único seguro en esta vida. [Death is the only guarantee in this life.] —Spanish dicho my relationship with viviana continued until her death in the year 2000. As she became more frail, she tried to find a grandchild or other relative to live with her in her little house, but none of those arrangements worked out, so both elder daughters opened their homes to her. Mercedes had more resources, and though not always well herself, cared for her mother conscientiously, making sure she ate well, visited the doctor, and was as comfortable as possible . Because Viviana greatly feared living out her years in a nursing home as had Jorge, that was no small gift. When I visited in her daughter’s home, I no longer sat at Viviana’s feet, as Mercedes insisted I have a chair. Because Viviana’s hearing had deteriorated, it was also more difficult for us to talk. We managed , however, to communicate our affection for each other until my final visit, when it was clear she had only a few days to live. She lay in a softly lit bedroom in the front of the house, pale and looking smaller than ever, scarcely able to speak or lift her hand, but beckoning me to come close so she could hear my words. Mercedes had led me into the room and remained while I said my good-byes. Try as I might, I cannot remember what I said to her that day. I left with a sad heart, most importantly because I was losing my friend, but also because I hadn’t been able to finish her story in time for her to see it in print. Looking Back 191 “Ahora ya mi ataúd se está fabricando por una familia muy buena y en ese deseo ser sepultada.”1 [“Now my coffin has been made by a good family, and in it I wish to be buried.”] So wrote Luisa Torres of Guadalupita, New Mexico, in a memoir. Viviana, too, made her preparations for death calmly and matter-of-factly. She seemed comfortable accepting and preparing for it. Even in discussing the fragility she was experiencing as an old woman and her impending death, however, she punctuated her narrative with lighthearted comments and stories. She still had plenty of zest for life, including a spunky sense of humor, and she didn’t mind making fun of herself. When I went to pick out my casket—I have everything ready for when I die, everything—the one who sells the caskets told me, he said, “Look, if your husband dies first, you have to give him your casket.” I said, “No.” I said, “I’m not going to give it to him. Let him buy one.” [Dije, “No.” Dije, “Yo no se lo doy. Que compre él uno.”] But they wanted to take my box away from me to give it to him if he were to die first. And I told him, “No. He’s cheap.” I already have my plot, I have my casket , I have my gravestone. I’m lacking only the cards that they give and the workers who are going to direct the death, the funeral. Where the funeral procession goes, the police, that’s all I’m lacking. Thanks to God. I’m really old. I’m already very old. I have everything picked out there in that funeral home by the edge of town. I’ve just been thinking about having a will. I don’t have much, not much, but it’s very necessary to have a little house, for one’s going here and there like bouncing balls. [We think she means to keep one from bouncing back and forth, from here to there, homeless.] I haven’t made the will. [Here she whispers.] I have it, but they don’t know [gesturing toward her son and grandchild in the kitchen]. It doesn’t seem like it, but it is necessary. One needs to be prepared. Well, whatever God wants. By now, I’m ready, more ready to leave than to stay. Yes, I’m an old woman. Let’s see what’s in the future. Now I can’t walk alone. I’m afraid that they’ll leave me alone and I’ll fall. And if I fall, it’ll happen to me as it did to Jorge. I’ll go to the hospital, and I won’t...