Three summers ago, I made my first trip back to Mexico after moving to New York to live with my aunt. It was a trip full of strong and mixed emotions: I hadn’t seen my family in months, and while I had been away my grandmother, who I was very close to, had died. I was also getting ready to celebrate my quinceañera, or 15th birthday party. The quinceañera in Latin American culture is a girl’s coming-of-age ceremony, and means she’s considered to be turning into a woman.

I did feel that I was growing up a lot around that time. Living in a new country, away from my mother and siblings, had made me feel independent and free. And dealing with my grandmother’s death had been extremely difficult and taught me many lessons. In fact, I hoped that my party would be a rebirth, and truly my initiation into adulthood.

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Yet despite my new feelings of maturity, I was anxious about my quinceañera. Having a party so soon after my grandma’s death was awkward, and I was also sad because I wished more than anything that she could be there to share the moment with me.

Reunited

My aunt, uncle, cousins, and I arrived in Tampico, the city I’m from, after two flights and a layover in Houston. Somewhere in my mind I was hoping to see my grandma when we got there. Of course I knew she had died in April, but I just couldn’t imagine being in Tampico without her there. I usually dreamed that she was there waiting for me; she was happy and gave me a lovely hug. Now I imagined seeing her in her bed, smiling.

When I got to the house and she wasn’t there, everything finally seemed real. Childhood memories of my grandma came back to me, and I cried and cried. But now, finally, I had the comfort that I hadn’t had when she actually died: I had my mother’s arms to hold me, and we embraced for a long time in tears. Though the house felt empty and silent with Grandma gone, it felt comforting to be in my own room and bed, near my mother and family.

Before leaving for New York, I had been kind of tired of the same routine and lifestyle in Mexico. I was bored of doing the same thing every day, without any surprises. Then I came to New York and saw new things every day. I enjoyed it, but I also made an unexpected discovery: I missed my sister and brother. It made me value my family so much more.

My siblings missed me too; we had so much to talk about when they saw me. They asked lots of questions like, “Now you speak English? How is school? How are your friends? What kinds of things have you seen?” I answered their questions and taught them some things I’d learned, like a Dominican dance called bachata. We hung out a lot, going to the beach, to the movies, and out dancing.

A Party to Remember

I appreciated my family even more when I realized that my aunts and uncles were doing everything they could to give me a quinceañera to remember. My mom wanted a nice, big party, but with all the expenses piling up, she wasn’t sure how to cover the costs. I noticed she was worried about money, and felt sad to know she was anxious. I told her I was fine with having something simple.

image by Percy Tejeda

Then, one day during the summer, my mom and her brothers and sisters went into a room and locked the door. My cousin told me they were trying to discuss finances without me finding out and feeling bad. I felt really special, knowing that were taking my party so seriously. At the same time, it made me nervous: the fact that they were making a big deal of this party made me feel a kind of pressure.

Those emotions continued right into the day of my quinceañera. I felt nervous, excited, and at the same time sad. I kept thinking about my grandma, so much so that I started to cry from the bottom of my heart while I was waiting for the car to pick me up. My sister told me, “Don’t cry. I miss her too, but you should be happy today is your special day. Plus, you will ruin your makeup.” After few minutes I stopped crying, reminding myself that my grandma was with me in my heart and mind. And I was glad my sister was there to comfort me.

Family Moment

Most quinceañeras begin in church, with a special blessing. When I arrived at the church I was happy, feeling as if I were getting married because all the guests were waiting for me and I was walking up the aisle, led by my grandpa. I was moved by everyone’s presence and their care for me, and I thanked God for bringing me this day in which my family was together.

The reception was wonderful, too. All my friends and relatives were waiting for me, and I entered with my grandpa and mother as the DJ played “Las Mañanitas,” the Mexican version of the song “Happy Birthday.” I danced a traditional waltz with my grandpa, then one of my aunts gave a moving toast recalling the important steps in my life, my academic achievements, and the lessons my grandma taught me.

A lot of my family members cried during the speech, but it wasn’t a sad moment. I felt that my grandma was there with us, and that she was present in every hug I received from my family. My sister’s hug was the best, because she doesn’t show affection that often. I began to realize that as much as I missed my grandma, our remembering her together could bring us all closer.

For their quinceañera, most girls prepare a special performance to showcase their talents. I sang a song called “Amor Eterno,” or “Eternal Love,” which expressed the way I felt about my grandma’s death. Some of the lyrics go: “You are the sadness of my eyes/ That cry in silence for your love/ I see myself in the mirror and see how I’ve changed because of your loss…” My family sang it along with me, and the love and unity I felt in that moment was incredible.

Comfort Amid Reality

I wondered if I’d notice some change in myself after turning 15 and having my party. But I think what changed me more was my grandmother’s loss, just as the lyrics of “Amor Eterno” express. I’ve matured by facing the reality of my home without her in it, and by confronting the fear I had of visiting her grave.

The first time I went, I brought my guitar to sing to her as I used to, but in the moment I couldn’t sing because it broke my heart standing before her grave. Over the summer, though, I began to feel that visiting her grave often was like spending time with her. And when I went with my family, we usually reminisced about good moments we’d spent with her.

That summer trip to Mexico made me realize that my grandma was gone—but also that, wherever and whenever my family is together, she’s still present in a different way. At first the house felt empty, and I had the impression that we were split up and broken. By the end of the summer, I felt different. I was sad to leave my family, but full of joy and gratitude for all the time we had.