Dear Abuelita

Dear Abuelita,

You don’t know me, but I’ve heard so much about you. We’ve never spoken or seen each other face to face, but it feels like I’ve known you my entire life. You see, this letter is 33 years too late. You died 5 years before I was born, 3 years before my mom met my dad.

I am the granddaughter that you’ll never meet. We’ve never spoken or shared lasting memories together. In fact, the only memories I have of you are from the stories your daughters – my mom and aunty – share with me. Your memory lives on long after your death through the power of their words.

I want to thank you. Thank you for the countless sacrifices that you made for your family, sacrifices that continue to benefit us all today. You sacrificed so much to provide your daughters a stable and happy environment while living on the brink of poverty. You must have felt afraid and alone, but according to my mom, it never showed. As a matter of fact, whenever she speaks of her childhood, the happy memories far outweigh the bad. You never had much but somehow you always managed to make it work.

You grew up in Mexico, the second oldest child of 12. You were poor, dirt poor. Your childhood was hard and got even harder when your mother died in childbirth. You were forced to drop out of school to raise your younger siblings and provide an extra income as a maid. You sacrificed your dream of becoming a teacher for the well being of your family and you became a mother to your new baby brother who would never meet his birth mother. You were only 14 years old at the time.

You cared for your siblings like they were your own children and you watched over them as they grew up and left home one by one, until you were the only one left. By the time you were 26 years old, you had a toddler on your hip and another one on the way. Single and alone. Equipped with nothing but a ninth-grade education and years of experience cleaning houses. You left your home and everyone you loved behind to travel to a you new land, Canada.

Yours is not a rags to riches kind of story. There’s no Cinderella happily every after ending, an no Prince Charming to speak of. You continued to struggle in Canada, a single mother of two earning below minimum wage. You had no help, no family other than your girls, and you depended heavily on government assistance for most of your life in Canada. But you never complained, and you never stopped working hard to give your daughters what they needed. You persevered, and you endured, and you persevered some more.

Mom and aunty are always talking about you. Sharing stories of growing up with you and you’re delicious cooking. They talk about how hard you worked to provide for them, sometimes working three jobs at a time to keep a roof over their heads and food in the fridge. They speak of your chilaquiles, known to be the best chilaquiles in the neighborhood. I’ve never met you or spoken a single word to you, but I know you.

I admire your strength and your ability to pick up the pieces of your broken life and shattered dreams to make something beautiful out of it. Long after you breathed your last breath you continue to inspire. You’ll never read this letter and I’ll never get to thank you in person. You’ll never see my children’s faces, or their beautiful almond-shaped eyes that they inherited from you. One thing that I want more than anything in this life is for you to know how honoured I am to be apart of you, and you apart of me. I will cherish your memory with your great grandchildren. I love you Abuelita, forever and always.

Sincerely,

N. R. Beckford