Occasionally I think back to my grandmother Catherine. Catalina is a beautiful name. In my father's house, there is a picture of her with those eyes that are my eyes almost, dominant genes are spread throughout the family. The eyes of my grandmother Catherine are full of strength, I think, I convey strength and confidence, there is no suspicion, seem to say "yes" to everything.
Nov. 29 Panchito nation, my brother. Is of course the same fatality of an eye. The eyes of my brother, who are the eyes of my father, but were reborn, I look inexplicable from the arms of his mother. Panchito shakes his legs and arms in all directions. Has great strength, I get the feeling that it will run just to walk, to take over the world with both hands.
The day I was born, she told me Mom, I raised my little body hands, face down, to rest your head on the other side. Some of that force has Panchito. My dad is strong, straightforward, things he wanted to have them. It makes me think that my parents know them fixed. It is as if his persistence gave me confidence.
My mom is also strong. Russian Corps (50 percent). We have the same chest. Sometimes I
impressive to think that behind me, there is an endless chain of women, coming from who knows where. Men and women who sustain my existence. Whose life force has been handed me, wanting to move forward, to transcend, cloning into infinity. Because being alive is something. Many people before me, remained very much alive, that I may now be here. And so I keep me here, alive, to honor them.
On January 7, my grandmother died last Mery. I was impressed to see the light of noon entered the room. Was purple, faded, bruised, or agglomerations of blood, who knows. It was not makeup or anything. was so dead. I could not touch. Unlike other times, I felt that would bite me if I approached. The nurses beat them. And to raise it to bed had to grab three. And he was thin, thin , and with those bones that are my bones, (the same) hard grueling, pounding, hurting. "And how scratching!" told his roommate, and there seemed to speak of a woman of 95 years, I talked like a tiger.
My grandmother was always fat, but he died thin. And I could not touch it, because his neck and his collarbone there in bed, were identical to my neck and collarbone, and my mom. He had never been thin, and did not know how we looked physically. And seeing her like this, burst of life, violet and red, I referred to a possible end to mine.
Because we have a strong body of women who live long, and that's not always good. Not if you can no longer walk, or he pulls enyl s imminent. Track elapsed time as he looks out the window.
Sometimes I think that's old I'll go crazy. Not by choice, a disease or something. A alzeimer rampant sclerosis. Twentieth century diseases , post-penicillin.
Well, what a depressing post. Could it be that today we had 10 people body only Art and came with that weight?
But it gives me hope knowing that the eyes of my grandmother Catherine kept burning until the last minute. The penalties and the bad times could not take your sense of humor.
sense of humor has saved me many times has saved me many things. Something deep inside me, protected me as a small white light-white , you always know that despite all the winters of the world, always waiting, latent and demonic, a spring.
