\n Moises Mendez II\/Insider
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\n <\/figure>\nMore than 100 people gathered at my great-grandmother’s gravesite for her burial.\u00a0<\/p>\n
Her sister rests on the hill next to her, overlooking a busy main street. Before the priest started the service, a funeral attendant began to distribute flowers in various colors for the casket.<\/p>\n
Purple was my great-grandmother\u2019s favorite color. It was her favorite color and I remember seeing it in many photos of her over the years.<\/p>\n
I became overwhelmed with emotion and turned my head as the flowers were being given out. I knew that if they looked at me, I would cry. It was their final goodbye.<\/p>\n
I tried to remember a good memory that I had with her, but my brain was not cooperating. As I tried to think of something, I felt selfish for feeling these feelings of grief for someone I rarely spoke to.<\/p>\n
As I tried to keep my tears from gushing, the lump in my throat got larger. My head kept whispering to me to stop crying as my family members wept and sniffled. “You didn’t get to know her that well. It’s not your place to cry,” I kept saying that.<\/p>\n
As I watched my younger cousins struggle to hold the pieces together, I held on to my mom’s hands. I wondered how our relationship with her would have looked if we had the chance to meet when I was older.\u00a0<\/p>\n
I thought she might have tried to connect with me and her great-grandchildren, who don’t know Spanish. While I can see the language barrier today with many aunts and uncles of mine, I remember that many of my relatives still love to see me and are willing to chat and connect as much as possible.<\/p>\n
I was handed a purple flower by the attendant. It was a small gesture, although it seemed insignificant, that was nevertheless comforting. It was a simple reminder to love transcends language.<\/p>\n
As if it were a sign from her, I took it as a message from her. “Don’t worry, we might not have understood each other, but I love you.”<\/p>\n<\/section>\n<\/p><\/div>\n