here is an essay about graNDmother

contributed by stars01(Edited by amplifiers)
Wednesday July 20, 2005


I was never called "scar-faced'' as a kid, I had never been rebuked for this noticeable slash across my cheek, but I grow hating my scar. I've lost count on how many sebo de macho or how many packs of scar remover I had bought just to hide this. According to hearsays, my lola was to blame for my misery. my mother told me how I hated to drink my medicine when I was a child. Once, in an attempt to make me drink my syrup, my lola forced my mouth open, but I struggled-thus the scar was born.

My lola's not the type you'd hate. She was never the stern-looking grandmother with a dos por dos in hand awaiting you by hte doorstep when you come home way past 6 pm. She was never the type who'd knit tabletops and sweaters in her rocking chair by the window. Nay. My lola was different.

At age 10, we had to move into our new home, leaving my grannies and my tita behind. Even so, my lola never missed seeing us every weekend. for the past nine years, my lola spend the weekend with us, leaving only on Sunday evening. All those years, I share my room with my lola, play Bingo during those lazy  weekend afternoons,  argued which channel between 2 and 7  was better. Lola was never boring. She loves doing crosswords at night and enjoys chatting with our equally loud talkative neighbor. She was so full of life...until of course that unforgettable day.

In a supposedly happy 7th birthday of my cousin, lola, all of a sudden lost consciousness, prompting my parents to rush her to the hospital. A few grueling minutes later, we recieved news that lola had recovered. Little did we all knew that it won't be for long. In an hour later, my tita informed us that lola had a stroke. It was unbelievable. just a few hours before, my lola was still laughing, happily cuddling one of my twin cousins on a couch at the party. The next thing I realized she was 50/50.

It wasn't long before my lola fell into a coma. The doctors did try their best to make her conscious but evrything seemed hopeless. Nothing, not even a head surgery could make my lola wake up. I could only cry when I saw her lying in the hospital bed, with all the tubes inserted in her body. She seemed helpless, a far cry to the once alive and kicking grandmother a few days back. Three days later and a few minutes before taking a crusial zoology exam, the news came in-my lola passed away.

In the next few days, I felt empty, unable to gather up my feelings and wail. i kept staring at her lifeless body inside the coffin, all the while asking why God had chosen to take her at such a supposedly happy moment of our life.

It's been 58 days since she left us. I still haven't resigned to the fact that my6 lola's gone to heaven where she's better off. I look at my self again in the mirror and curse all the sebo de macho and the countless packs of scar remover I used on my now disappearing scar. I cursed myself for trying to hide it back then. If only I know what would happen, I would have tried making this disappear. No...Maybe not this scar...the only memento my lola's labor of love.