Dear Lela,

This morning was a nasty shock. I am still sorry that I did not visit more. I cannot say I kept my promise. But then again, somewhere in the back of my mind, I expected you to live much longer. Maybe get the chance to hit eighty.

I love you, you know? I am sure you do, but you would probably like to hear it, and I know I would like to say it. Even when my mother told me this morning that you had been disconnected, I was too frozen to really let myself get upset over it. And when I started crying as I brushed my teeth, I still had no gut feeling that we would lose you.

Whenever Marathon, the youngest of all your children, brings his dog, you forget whose it is. You always ask if it is my mother’s. She always answers negatively, and you would reply with a surprised “oh.” And then, you would turn to her again, and say “I am so happy you got a doggy!”

Your youngest daughter, A.M. Small, hugged my sister and me, and Piercing. Then we stood outside your room, and A.M. Small went inside. Slowpez, Piercing and I were the only grandchildren there. All eight of your living children went into your room. Each had a private talk with you, and you were always, always surrounded by people. You were never left alone. My mother was your only marriage-relation there. She stood outside with the three of us. Even though in part, we did not want to go in because we were told that it was a sight we did not want to see, I think what mainly kept us out of Room 03-204 was that we felt that your children needed their time alone with you.

Even when I was fourteen, you were always so worried about others getting hurt. If any of your older grandchildren picked up your youngest, Splash, who was only two years old at the time, you would caution us, over and over and over, about how we cannot drop him, because he will get hurt. Hearing the same rules or warnings from anyone else might be frustrating. We always knew to expect it from you. And for some reason, it just made us adore you even more.

My dad came out for just a few minutes. It is the second time I remember him crying. Only last time, it was just a few tears. This time, there was hiccupping and hitched breathing and sobs. He told us to remember what a nice person you were, how nice you have always been, and how your whole goal for your life was just to be nice to everyone, and to love everyone, and there are very many people who say that about a dying relative. It is not true for most of them. For you it was. If your name was not already Lela, it would have been Sweet.

Neither of my brothers know about your having joined my grandfather and my uncle, the former of whom I can hardly remember, the latter having died before my parents even met. One is in the Keys, and the other in Michigan, both on baseball tournaments. When our team played in the World Series a few years ago, you cheered and laughed and watched as intently as all of us did. You probably would have been happy to see my brothers play, because it is baseball, and you love it, and it would probably remind you of your husband. You have been to a couple of their games before. I hope you enjoyed them. I think you did.

Then he went back inside. My mother, Piercing, my sister and I stood by a window in the same hallway as your room. It did not overlook anything particularly beautiful. Suburbia gets to look boring after awhile.

Nearly every year for the past fifteen, we have taken a short family vacation to either Naples or Ft. Myers. One year, we were too late to reserve for such a large group. Instead, we ended up going to Ft. Lauderdale. You were inside your hotel room, and you kept asking to go back home. You couldn’t remember why we were in a hotel, or why we would not leave. At the time, we knew your memory was bad, but we did not know that you had Alzheimer’s. We asked Photograph why. He answered, “Well, first she drinks. And she has a bad memory, so she forgets that she drinks. So then she drinks again. Then, because she drank, and she has a bad memory, she forgets that she drank already, so she drinks again. Then she forgets again. It’s a self-fulfilling prophecy.” You probably would have laughed at that.

Then we heard loud, high-pitched, but male sobs from Room 03-204. Your daughters were quieter. A nurse went to close the door. We approached it. She asked if it was okay for us to be inside. We asked if you were gone. We still couldn’t be sure.

For the better part of my seventeen years, you have never asked me about boys. There was one day that you did. Three times. It was a few months back, and I sat on the couch that you always used to sit at, directly in front of your television. You stopped using that spot when you got your new chair for Christmas. You asked me how many admirers I had. I told you that I didn’t have any. You scoffed, and said that all these boys must be blind. Of course, you have to say that, never mind that I am a complete mess next to you. I laughed. I am asked the same thing by my other grandmother every time I see her. Then we talked a bit about school. You thought I was a sophomore, although I was a junior, which is odd, because usually my family thinks that I am supposed to graduate the same year as the Bull. She is a year older. Then you asked me, in Spanish, “And how many admirers do you have?”

She confirmed it, and apologized. She walked away, and the four of us huddled and prayed. We are all supposed to be Catholic, but we do not exactly follow religion religiously. I suppose spiritual is a better word for it. Then we heard the easily distinguishable laughs of your children. Each of theirs has some strange characteristic, for example, my father’s has a strange tee hee type sound to it, and Photograph’s is a comical repetition of what sounds like a deep huih, huih, huih, with the odd ends of hiccups in between. They all walked out smiling. Dad’s family has always been able to turn a situation into a sitcom, and even though we were joking about funeral arrangements, you and Lelo and your oldest son are probably laughing together with us.

You’ve always tried to keep everything fair. You could never say that one person was more beautiful than another. Like when you saw Piercing when she came down to visit from school. You told her she is very pretty. Then you would say, embarrassed, “But they all are, all the kids. They are all very pretty, they are all pretty the same amount.” You could not even say that one puppy was cuter than another. You refuse to express any opinion that might imply that Marathon’s Chu-ching is any more adorable than Piercing’s Georgie.

The rest of your family, with the exception of those who were out of town and unaware, and those who lived in another state, joined us at the hospital. We sat around a tiny table and drank coffee. Then we went back to your house. I had asked my dad the date earlier. He said, “Actually, you’ll hate this, but it’s June thirteenth.”

On the way to your house, Piercing turned to me and said, “It feels like some cruel joke. Friday the thirteenth.” I had been aware that it was Friday, and my dad had told me it was the thirteenth. I had yet to connect the two. They have nothing to do with what happened, but I bet that if irony could, it would be asking us to tickle it some more. It couldn’t be laughing harder, anyway.

We ate from Las Vegas Cuban Cuisine, because we figure that would be your choice, no matter the meal, and all of the employees there will miss you, too. And even though our eyes are red and dry thanks to an overleakage of tears, and our throats are raw and our heads are fogged, we joked and laughed and reminisced and played your video games, because that is what we always do at your house.

I love you.

I love you.

Cubans, cachinnation and crescendo,

London.

P.S.: I'm pretty sure if I was still at your house, and everyone was there, the signature would look more like this:

Love always,

Your children; Principal, Stress, Worker, Professor, Nun, Fruity, Photograph, A.M. Small, Marathon, their children; Japan, Reptile, Artsy, Piercing, Congestion, the Bull, London, Slowpez, Scuba, Chuh-hooky, Eccentric, Gymnast, Stinky, Tiny and Splash, your children’s spouses; Canadian, Spaghetti, the Claw, Girl Scout, Army, Foot, and of course, Las Vegas Cuban Cuisine, and The U.S. Post Office.

We can just pretend it says that. Because really, if words had spirits, then in spirit, it probably does.

In loving memory of Lela Rosa.

If there are any mistakes, I apologize. I will go back and fix it sometime soon, but I wanted to post this already.