My abuelitos moved to your address in 2015 after conflicts with their downstairs neighbor. Since you’re located on the first floor of the building, they were so excited to get away from the complaints. The downstairs neighbor grumbled about their footsteps, their conversations, and their endless “kitchen noises.” Sometimes I think the neighbor was jealous of them, don’t you? They had family over often and we would talk, cook, eat, and listen to music from their youth. Looking back, maybe we should have invited the neighbor to join us.
The day they moved in, I remember Abuelito saying, “This is my last apartment. I’m not going anywhere else.” Once they were settled, our festivities returned. We celebrated birthdays, Mother’s Day, Father’s Day, Easter, Christmas and just because days. Do you remember how
busy the kitchen could get? Abuelito loved making cheese empanadas topped with powdered sugar and Abuelita made pot after pot of rice because it was a good side for any meal. There were always dishes to wash and counters to wipe. On occasion, the floor was sticky because Abuelito spilled ice cream or fruit juice. Is your kitchen still active now? Or is it always clean?
But there weren’t always happy days. When Abuelita’s Alzheimer’s worsened, she could barely cook anymore. Every day, Abuelito showed her how to use the stove and the oven. Within a few hours, she’d forget and he’d have to teach her again. The pots full of rice slowly disappeared. And the empanadas? They didn’t show up as much because Abuelito was too exhausted to make them. Did you notice the times when he barely had energy? Did you know his heart was failing him? Did you worry about him not coming home one day?
The last time Abuelito was with you was on May 29, 2017. I was there to take him out for a belated birthday lunch. He told me to get him a to-go plate instead because he wasn’t feeling well. Soon, he asked me to take him to the hospital and you never saw him again. What did you think on the day Abuelita came home without him? Do you miss him too?
Abuelita almost burned you down shortly after Abuelito died. Since he wasn’t around to teach her how to use the stove, she had no idea what she was doing. Can you still smell the thick smoke? It lingered for a while, but with deep cleaning, everything went back to normal, or as normal as it could be. Then Abuelita started getting lost. She couldn’t navigate your hallway without getting frightened. She didn’t recognize your bedrooms, bathrooms, closets, or carpet. She’d say phrases like “Whose home is this?” or “Where am I?” Whenever that happened, we’d remind her that you were her home, no matter how many times she denied it.
The day after Abuelita died, your landlords gave us a month to clear you out. Little by little, we emptied every room. My husband repainted your cabinets and made small repairs to make you presentable to your next residents. Soon, you were vacant except for the notes Abuelito taped on your walls. Each one said “smile.” Abuelito struggled with depression and anxiety. He needed reminders to have some joy so his negative feelings wouldn’t overtake him.
One by one, I peeled his notes off. Should I have left them up for your next resident?
Did you know I still have a copy of your key? Abuelito gave me one about three months before he died. He asked me to use it if nobody heard from him or Abuelita for more than two days. I’m sure your locks have been changed and honestly, there is no rational reason for me to have your key anymore. But I keep it on my keychain.
I don’t know who lives in you now. I hope they take great care of you, like my abuelitos did. Most of all, I thank you for being their sanctuary during the last years of their lives. You kept them warm and dry each winter. Your strong ceiling fans cooled them down in our sweltering Houston summers. Your kitchen provided them with hot meals and cheerful memories with their children and grandchildren. Your bedrooms comforted them, especially on the evening Abuelita died. You did a wonderful job sheltering my abuelitos and I will never forget you.
With all my love,
Darlene
