Red eyes, salt-stained skin, that tight feeling in my throat. Losing someone you loved more than anyone else in the world is not an easy thing to just get over. 

 She sat quite still in the bed, its stiff white sheets covering her frail body. I reached out and held her rough and wrinkled hands.  She looked at me through squinted eyelids; her beautiful blue-green and hazel eyes always seemed to glisten. When she saw my face, she smiled tenderly, and a dimple engraved her left cheek. She grimaced as she adjusted to face me. I gently held her cheek and repaid her with a kiss on her forehead, holding back the tears that pleaded her not to go.  

     The doctor had already told me that today would most likely be her last.  

     “Hola, Mamá,” I said softly as tears welled in my eyes. I sat on the bed, and I decided to try my best and comfort her. I think I was trying to comfort the both of us. I described a little island with a glistening white beach; two girls running on hot sand, throwing flip-flops aside as they laughed and skipped freely. The melting sun painted the sky, its rays reaching out to kiss their faces. The rolling waves crashed on each other, mimicking the girls as they played leapfrog on the shore, almost as if to tell them to come in and play. These memories made peaceful pictures pop into my head, making it easier to keep myself composed. We talked of Cami, my daughter, and more moments we wished we could have had. We were laughing softly; every now and then, a small tear would escape my eye and roll down my face slowly. She would reach up slowly, brushing the tear away and holding my face to soothe me.  

     “Te amare por siempre. Vive tu vida al máximo de lleno. Toma riesgos, mi amor.” This translates to, “I love you forever. Live your life to the fullest of full. Take chances, my love.” These were my mother’s words to me, today was the day, and there would be no more.  
The next day, I received a letter from a lawyer where my mother had left a Will and wishes for her burial. She requested to be cremated, which surprised me because she told me that her family had a plot in Puerto Rico. I assumed she would want to be put to rest there. I had never heard of any of my relatives being cremated, but my mother made her own way, in life and now in passing. The letter went on to explain that she wanted a plot here in Tampa to be near us, and she wanted me to take the rest of her ashes back to Puerto Rico. 

 
     I had so much to do, I had scheduled just a few days off work, but Cami has school; maybe her dad can take her for a few days. I just feel like sleeping and then sleeping some more. And Cami. I just haven’t been spending as much time with her since Mamá became ill. Quite honestly, I have not been the same person at all lately. Before Mom turned ill, my husband and I decided to get a divorce after 13 years of marriage, a hard but necessary change. I met Anthony at 20, through one of my friends. When I was twenty-three, I got married, and a year later, my husband, Anthony, and I welcomed our beautiful daughter. My Mamá fell in love with Camilla Maria Esteves Cruz, Cami, her namesake. They spent almost all their time with each other. They loved going to the beach together and learning how to fish. I was consumed with how this would affect her, but she has been amazing. She is resilient, helpful, and somehow understanding with this gray life, we have been living. My daughter is growing way too fast. She is going into 9th grade, and I know I need to wake up and take some kind of action, but I guess I am still grieving. Is she grieving? I can only think of what my mom would say to me right now. She would say, “First step, shower; second step go, cook, por el amor de Dios. Let’s go, vamanos, Mijita,” whilst shooing me along. Oh! And Mama made the most amazing food. She taught my sister and me growing up, how to make our families’ traditional Isla de Vieques dishes. It brought us together, and it became “our thing.” We always enjoyed each other’s company.  

     Today, I forgot she was gone. I picked up the phone and dialed her number, expecting to ask her how her day was, ask for some advice, anything. I couldn’t help but break down. The prerecorded voicemail went off, and I remembered. I would sit there, in my car, my shoulders uncontrollably shaking, choking on sobs, as her sweet voice swam through the car speakers. I always tried to compose myself in front of Cami, but I knew she saw the pain in my eyes, even through the fake smiles I rehearsed. Yesterday the door to her room was closed. I could hear quiet crying coming from the door, and it just shattered my heart into a million pieces. I opened her door, walked to her bed, and we held each other close until we were feeling a little better. Of course, a small piece of our hearts would always be missing now that Abuelita was gone; I told her every day, it would get a little better. I am not sure I believe myself, but this is for Cami.  

     I made a decision. I packed one bag and a small decorative vessel, Cami turned to face me with that 14-year-old I am not moving unless you tell me WHAT is going on. 

     “Okay, so you know how your Abuelita was always talking about that island in Puerto Rico? Vieques?”  

     “...Yes?” She says questioningly. Her brow was raised, and she slightly tilted her head. She reminded me of a little puppy with those big round eyes.  

     “Well, one of Abuelita’s biggest wishes, before she passed, was to have her body scattered around all her favorite areas in Vieques.”  

     “And?” She replies. 

     “And I bought us airplane tickets to San Juan, and then we have to take a ferry the rest of the way, and we’re leaving now.” 

     Her confused look turned into a big bright smile; her eyes were glistening with excitement. I was ecstatic with her reaction. “What! Really? We’re going to Vieques?? Oh my gosh, oh my gosh! I can’t wait. I need to start packing, like now. Oh my gosh!” she said without taking a single breath.  

     “Ha ha! I am so glad you’re excited! I’m excited too! Plus, you’ll get to meet your Tía Nathalia and your cousins Angelina and Marcos.”  

    “Oh my gosh! I literally cannot wait. I have always wanted to meet Tía Nati!”  

     “I know; I miss her, so I can’t wait to see them all. I can’t believe I haven’t taken you to meet them yet,” I respond. “Well, we’re going now; that’s all that matters.”  

     She’s beaming, and her huge smile is just too contagious. For the next 10 minutes, she rambles on and on with excitement as we wait for the Uber to arrive at our casita. She talks about what she wants to bring with her, and where she wants to go, and she asks me endlessly about our family and if we’re to stay with them or in a hotel. I answered as many of her questions as I could.  

     “Camilla Maria Estevez Cruz!! It’s time to get in the car! We’re going to be late,” I yelled with a furrowed brow and a frown.  

     “I’m coming right now, I promise,” Cami responds as she hurriedly runs down the front stairs. Her hair bounced as she hopped down each step, her backpack in one hand, shoes in the other.

     “Vamos, Cami! You have one minute to get in this ride.” I look at the driver with a hopeless grin, “Teenagers, huh?” 

     The car door opens hastily, and a pair of white Converse, a small book, and a blue jean jacket are thrown inside before she steps in and plops on the seat beside me. She sighs and looks at me with a small smile. I grin at her and tuck a stray strand of her hair behind her ear. She rolls her eyes and giggles.

 
     I explained to Cami on the way to the airport that Abuelita and I moved from Vieques, Puerto Rico, when I was fifteen. My older sister, aunt, uncle, and grandparents all decided to stay in Vieques. Mamá thought it would be the best thing for the two of us at the time. Our family was proud and poor, but hopeful and always laughing. Mama knew she could make more money on the mainland to give me a better life, a better education, and more opportunities. She worked hard to provide for us. In the morning, she worked at a flower shop. They sold Flor de Maga saplings which reminded her of home, her favorite flower. At night she worked at a Cuban restaurant and would bring home Spanish Bean Soup. 

     It was so hard to leave our family behind. I miss my sister so much. She came to see me when I got married, but that was the last time I’d seen her in years. I’ll always remember her as that high-energy girl, always jumping around, practically singing her words. Golden-tanned skin, long black wavy hair that ran down her back, and the most beautiful hazel-green, with amber-flecked eyes, she always made me jealous. She took after our mom. Mamá and Nati looked identical as she got older. I look more like my dad, I guess. Light brown tight curls that hang over my shoulders, dark olive skin decorated with freckles, and deep brown eyes. I hated my eyes, but my mother always told me how much she loved them. She fell in love with my dad because of his playful smile and his big brown eyes; she said she could look into them forever. Papa had a different idea about forever and marriage. She never talked about my father much, and come to think of it, I never asked. We talked about the island, the savory food, the rich nature, the loud music, the dancing, and of course, the familiar faces, the familiar faces I would have to console. Vieques was small, l and I knew practically everyone, and I had explored almost every square inch.  

     We arrived at the Southwest Terminal, and Cami hopped out of the car, looking so grown up. I told her that she looked adorable today. She was wearing a mid-length dress that went in at the waist and flowed out beneath. It was decorated with blue and green flowers, her favorite colors. I asked her to “give me a spin,” and she reluctantly obeyed my request. Her dress rippled out beneath her, and a small smile crept upon her face.  

     “Aww, you look beautiful today, my love! So grown up!” Her face began to turn pink and was all scrunched up. “Oh my gosh, stop it!” She made sure to give me a quiet “thank you” and “I love you” before she turned and walked towards the airport doors.  

     She was beaming, and her huge smile is always just too contagious. For the next 10 minutes, she rambles on and on with excitement. She talks about what she brought with her, and where she wants to go, and she asks me endlessly about our family and if we’re to stay with them or in a hotel. I answered as many of her questions as I could. I admit, I am starting to catch her enthusiasm, or maybe it’s anxiousness. I tell myself, I made a good decision; everything will be all right. 

     Two hours and 45 minutes went by in a flash. Before I knew it, a flowery sundress found its way on the ferry that would take us to Vieques. It was 4 PM, and for the first time in a while, I wasn’t sulking; I was smiling.  

     “Wait!! Did we remember to pack Abuela?” Cami asked with a concerned look. 

     “Yes, Chiquita, I made sure she was in my carry-on. I wrapped the urn in the orange, blue and purple scarf.” 

     “Ah, okay, thank you.” she sighed and relaxed her face. 

 
     As we waited, we spoke about what we planned to do when we arrived. “We are going to be in Vieques for four days, okay? So, there will be plenty of time to do whatever you want and for me to show you everything I want to show you.” 

     “Okay, Mamá. The only thing I really want to do is see the water, try out some new foods, and meet our family,” she replies, ever so maturely. 

     I smile a small smile and say, “Okay, Sounds perfect.”  

     We both looked up abruptly since the ferry had stopped moving. We look out towards the island, turn to each other, and squeal softly. I pulled out a banana from my purse. Cami instantly grabbed it from my hand, peeled it, and split it for us to share. She said thank you and continued to nibble at her part of the banana. The water is beautiful Caribbean Blue, and the sun’s reflections made the water look like glass and sparkle so beautifully. 

     “Mamá! I need a picture. It’s beautiful!” 

     I passed her my phone, and she snapped a few pictures of the bright blue sky and the glimmering water. We looked at each other and grinned happily; Cami giggled and spun in a circle with her arms outstretched. Her loose curls danced around her, and her dress rippled in the wind. I grabbed her and pulled her close to me. The smell of fresh air and salt water enveloped us; I took a deep breath and savored it all. I could tell this was the best idea I had had in a long time. 

 
     Tilting my head, a smirk appearing on my face, I can’t help but think Mamá is looking down and yelling, “This was my idea!” 

     We arrived in Vieques, and I just felt so free for the first time in so long. Just me and Cami dancing to the distant sound of Salsa music in the sunlight. That moment was everything I had wanted for the past few months. Cami and I were genuinely happy. 

     “We’re here, my love! Are you ready to settle in, or do you want to explore a little today?” 

     “I want to explore,” Cami exclaimed. 

     “Okay, we’ll drop our stuff off at Nati’s house, say “hi,” and we’ll show you around a little bit!” 

     “Yay! I’m so excited.”  

     Being home was just a breath of beautiful, fresh air. My beautiful hometown. My beautiful people. My beautiful beaches. Oh! I missed it all so much! I stood there, and memories of my family seemed to flash through my mind like scenes in a movie.  That tropical island smell, the rhythm of this island, there is nothing like it.  

      “Mamá, your phone is ringing. It looks like it’s Tía Nati.”  

     [On the phone] “Hey, Nathalia! I’m here. Oh, you can come to get us? That would be great. Cami wants to explore a little bit today, are you and the kids want to tag along? I feel like it would be a good time for them to meet and get to know each other. Yes? Okay, perfect. We are both so excited. See you soon!” 

     Cami looks at me and pulls on my hand; I give her the phone and let her say her “See you soon” and “Goodbye.” 

     Nathalia pulls up in an old run-down blue jeep, windows down, her hand waving at us. I put my hand over my mouth with overwhelming happiness, and I waved back. Cami waved and started bouncing around, just like Nati would as a kid. I knew they would get along great. Nati opens the door and runs toward us, her arms open wide. Still the same beautiful girl she always was. Once she approached us, we all lunged at each other and fell into a big hug. We don’t let go for a minute or two; it has just been too long.  

     "Oh my gosh! It's just so good to see both of you. And to finally meet you in person," she says, facing Cami.  

     I have had Cami and my sister call before, but they have never met in person. 
     “I feel like we already know each other pretty well, regardless of us ever only meeting on a video call,” Cami replies. 

     “Me too! I can’t wait for you to meet Angelina and Marcos,” Nati says.  

     “Okay, you guys! Let’s get going. We only have four days here, and I want to squeeze in as much as I can, I say.” I lift the suitcase and place it in the trunk. I get in the front seat, and Cami jumps in the back. Cami holds her backpack in her lap, and I do the same with my purse. I guess it can wait to tell Nati that Mamá is in my purse. 

     We arrived at the house; it looked exactly as I remember it. Nati still lived in our childhood home, a small blue-and-white home with white curtains and yellow accents. I smiled as I reminisced about my and Nati’s childhood days. I could hear faint salsa music coming from inside, and the smell of seasoned beef and oil wafted out toward us in the driveway. I took a long breath and let it out, taking in all that was around me. A sweet-smelling cool breeze wafts by. You could see the beautiful beaches from our home; my sister and I always walked there as kids.  

     “Cami, do you see the beach? Just over there,” I say while pointing beyond the small house in front of us. 

     “I see it! It’s beautiful. I can’t wait to go!” I watch Cami as she looks around, slowly taking everything in.  

     “I smell something good. I’m so hungry,” I say as we walk closer to the door.  

     “Well, good thing I made some fresh empanadillas before I left to get you, just how Mamá used to make them,” Nati replies. Cami and I both “ooh.”  

     “Oh! That sounds so delicious. Thank you!”  

“Maybe you and I can teach Cami how to make them this week?” Nati says while turning to me. 
“Yes! Everyone should know how to make empanadillas,” I reply. 

     “Lina! Marcos! Your cousin, Cami, and your Aunt Yessi are here!” 

     We both had nicknames for each other; my full name is Yesenia. Cami looks at me confused, “Yessi?” 

     “Nati and Abuelita always called me that when I was little. Family nickname!”  

      “Oh. Okay, it makes sense! I like it,” she says with a smile.  

     “Me too,” I say with a nod. 

     “I told those kids not to go to the beach! They told me they’d only be five minutes, but I still said no! They should be here,” Nati exclaims while shaking her head.  

     “It’s okay, Nathalia. Let’s just meet them there. How about we eat out there like old times? Maybe we can stop by the plantain stand on the way and get some maduros? If it’s still there, of course.” 

     “Okay, you know what, that sounds like a great idea! And yes! The plantain stand is still there,” Nati says, loosening up a little bit.  

     “Cami, will you please help me wrap these empanadillas up? Maybe grab some fresh fruit from the fridge?” 

      “Okay, Mamá. What should I bring?” 

      “Cut up a few mangoes?” 

      “Okay, on it! Where are the knives at?” I pointed to a drawer where Mamá always kept the knives, and I assumed Nati left things the way they were even after all these years of us not living here. I assumed right. When Cami opened the drawer, everything was exactly how it was placed as when we were kids. 

     I scanned the kitchen to see if everything was still the same. Well, Nati had gotten a microwave, which we didn’t have before. The fridge was new, and there were pictures of Mamá, our grandparents, and our aunts and uncles stuck on with magnets. There were two framed pictures; one of Nati with Angelina and Marcos at the beach and the other of Nati, Mamá, and me when we were young. Cami was busy next to me, carving out chunks of mango and putting them in a clear plastic container that had a blue lid. Next to a vase of purple and yellow flowers, I grabbed a cloth that was folded neatly and placed in a small wicker basket. I unfolded it and placed ten empanadillas inside. They were flaky and warm, and they smelled so good! I twisted the top and placed the now full cloth back in the small basket. I went to the small closet next to the pantry in the kitchen and grabbed two blankets for us to sit on at the beach. I chose the cyan blue and the scarlet red one, Cami and I’s favorite colors. I handed the blankets to Nati, and she headed to the car.  

     I have been waiting for a moment to let Nathalia know why we are really here, that at this moment, Mamá is in my purse, and how much I would really like to get her out of there. The mood is light, and everyone is so happy, but there is no way I am getting into a Jeep again with Mama’s ashes. While everyone was preoccupied, I slipped into the pantry and poured Mama into 4 mason jars. I left three jars and the urn tucked behind a 20 lb. bag of arroz and a 10 lb. bag of Maseca. Before I left, I took one jar of my Mamá’s ashes and put it carefully in my dress pocket. I walked back into the kitchen. Cami turned to me with a cheesy, “I’m so happy grin,” took the basket of empanadillas and walked out to meet Nati in the car.  

     On our way to the beach, through the open window, I admired the palm trees dancing in the wind, people wearing brown sandals and bright-colored clothing, laughing, and talking at markets and in front of houses, small birds flying by, booming reggaeton music filling empty spaces of streets, smells of salty air and fried plantains, all such beautiful things that remind and make me feel peaceful, home. Cami was dazzled. She had her head rested on her arm, which was placed on the car door, her hair flying around every which way. She hummed along to the music and let the sun beam on her face.  

     We get close to the beach, but right before the parking lot, there is a green and yellow truck that sells all types of plantains and has a few common Puerto Rican desserts as well. When I was little, we’d come here late at night to get Besitos de Coco, kisses of coconut, or Maduros, plantains pan-fried in oil and sometimes topped with sugar. Besitos de Coco are coconut macaroons, sweet, soft, and flaky. They melt in your mouth and leave a sweet, yet savory taste in your mouth. 

      “Stop the car! We’re here,” I tell Nati.  

     “Okay, you want to go get them?” 

     “Sure, I’ll be right back,” I say. 

     I open the car door and walk towards the stand. The young man I remember from years ago now had wrinkles around his eyes and smile. His dark brown hair was now salt and pepper. He smiled warmly, like he knew who I was. I smiled back and said, “Hola, Jaco! It’s so good to see you. I don’t know if you remember me, but I’m Yesenia. Yessi?” 

     “Of course, I remember you. You’re Rosi’s daughter. You still look like the same girl I remember when you were young. Let me guess. You want two orders of Maduros?” 

     “Yes, please! How much?”  

     “Two dollars, please.” 

     I hand him the money, and he tells me he’ll be right back with my order. He comes out with a paper bag full of sweet, warm, and crispy Maduros, and my mouth waters. He also hands me a small box. I open it, and there are two Besitos de Coco inside.  

     “For you and the little one,” he says as he nods his head towards the car. “I remember your mom and you coming here late at night to share these,” he tells me.  

     Tears fill my eyes; I missed those nights. Just her and I. I try to blink the tears away and thank Jaco for the gift. He nods his head and wishes me a good day. I wave goodbye. 

      I walk back to the Jeep and get in. The air is now filled with the smell of the Maduros, and everyone groans, “MMMMmmmmm.” We all laughed. The smooth curves of the road turn to shell and then sand as we continue our trip to the beach. In about two minutes, we’re there. We park the car and get out.  

     “Lina, Marcos, come here,” Nati calls out. 

     They were a few feet away on the sandy beach.  

     “Hey! It’s so nice to finally meet you in person,” Lina says to me.  

     “Hi! Yes! I cannot believe Cami, and I didn’t make this trip sooner.”  

     We exchange hugs, and Cami hesitantly does the same. As we walk further onto the beach, I make small talk with Angelina and Marcos, asking them about school, the island, and our other family members.  

     I turn to Cami to bring her into the conversation, and I see that her jaw is dropped, and her eyes are wide. She is looking to the right, so we all turn to look at what has made her so shocked. It was a chestnut brown horse, its cream-colored mane blowing in the breeze. It was sniffing at the shoreline, and its skirt was flicking away the summer’s pestering mosquitos. I laugh softly, and everyone joins in. 

     “Is that... normal? Are there just horses walking around on the beaches here?”  

     “Yes, my love. Horses are used a lot here, mainly for transportation and travel. They are all over the island.”  

     “Isn’t she beautiful?” Lina says glancing at the chestnut-colored horse.  

     “Well, yes, of course. I guess I was just surprised,” says Cami with a flabbergasted look. 

 
     We walk closer, and Nati strokes the horse's mane and neck. Cami looked as if she was in a trance. I guess that’s one thing I left out when telling her stories about Vieques.  

     Marcos and Nati went back to the car to gather the food and blankets so we could enjoy our little beach picnic. Cami laid out the blankets in the sand so we could watch the sun go down. I grabbed the basket of empanadillas and untwisted the cloth, so we could begin eating. Nati opened the container of mango and rolled down the sides of the paper bag, taking out the chili lime salt, so we could pick out of the bag. We all sat happily enjoying our food, listening to sweet, acoustic guitar being played nearby. The blue sky became blended with oranges and pinks. I was so happy, the pure happiness I felt, the happiness I had been missing in my heart for too long. I pulled the small jar out of my pocket that had some of my Mamá's ashes in it. I walk over to the water, and everyone follows close behind. I tell everyone about Mama’s Will and Wishes, I take a pinch and let the wind take it into the water. The satisfaction of making my mother’s wishes come true, I just felt a heavy weight lift off my shoulders. At that moment, the wind died down, and the sun was strong; the sun’s rays shone down like fingers grazing the sea, I could feel her gentle hands warm on my face, and a little breeze kicked up, and I felt the kiss on my forehead, she was there with me. I turned and smiled at Cami and Nati, walked back to the blanket, and plopped down beside Cami with peaceful satisfaction, picked up the box of coconut macaroons. I handed her one and told her that this was a special treat I shared with her, Abuelita when I was young, and I wanted to share it with her. 

     She took a bite and closed her eyes. “I love this, Mamá, it’s so good,” she says. I’m so glad we came to Vieques.  

    The next day I visited and introduced Cami to her Isla family members. We visit my aunt and uncles that live nearby. They show nothing, but love and tell me they always supported my mother and her journey to the U.S., which I always thought everyone was against. I felt relieved. They shared memories of my mother and the many dishes of food she used to make when Nati and I were young.  

     My Tío looked at Cami and asked, “Do you know how to fish?”  

     Cami said, “Claro que si, my Abuelita taught me.”  

     “Of course she did,” Tío replies. Tío then led Cami to the porch, asked her to pick a pole, and said she had to catch her dinner tonight. She looked back at me, a little worried. I gave her a reassuring wink and motioned for her to keep walking. With the same scared look, she tried to stand a little straighter, then turned to go with her Gran Tío.   

     My Tía started grabbing ingredients for Chillo Frito, usually with Red Snapper. She constantly moved around the kitchen, never pausing as the ingredients whispered to her where to go, how much to use, and how hot the pan should be. I remember watching with the same fascination as my Mamá and Tía would cook together. I slowly pulled the jar from my pocket and placed it on the counter.  

    “Tía.” 

     She flounced around her kitchen with her back turned, “Tía,” I said again. 

 
     She finally paused, looked at me questioningly, then looked down at the foreign glass on the table and froze. “I thought you would like to say a blessing or have last words.”  

     “Tía, I want you to know she gave me a life that is priceless, I never could ask for more, and when she got sick, I took care of her… enough for everybody.” 

      Tía simply looked at the jar again, walked over, picked it up, and started cooking again.  
With her back turned, she asked, “Did your mom ever talk about your dad?” 

     This startled me, but I realized we are talking about cosas de vida, the things of life, that are hard to talk about. I wanted to speak, but I got choked up.  

     Tía continued to say, “Your father loved you and your mother with all his might, He would do anything for you and your sister.” 

     “Tía, have you told this story to Nati?”   

     “No”, Tía said. “She didn’t bring my sister back to me.”  

     Not skipping a beat, she continued, “He would sing to you every night and lift you to the stars because you came from Estrella Rosalinda. He was offered a job, maybe too good to be true, on a boat heading to Cuba. Your mom waited and waited for his return. We couldn’t afford to take you three in at the time, so your mom made the decision for you two to go to The States, Florida. I missed my sister terribly, but she wrote to me once a month.” 

     Tía reached into her pocket and took out letters bound with a leather strap and held them out for me to take. I reached for the letters and reached out for Tía and held her, and we both cried. We embraced each other. Finally, we pulled apart and wiped our eyes. 

     ”Okay, this Mofongo is not going to make itself; let’s see if you remember how to cook!” 
We went to the beach the next day and to Mosquito, bioluminescent, Bay, at midnight, where the water looked as if it were lit by a burning blue flame. It was absolutely stunning. Cami was simply mesmerized.  

     The last day arrived, and we had such a wonderful time. Mom was right; this is exactly what I needed to feel somewhat whole again. I realized that my Mama was not gone; she is here with my family, she is in me, she is in Cami. The food of my island, of my family, is love. I was healed by that love. This island, my family, my people, and their food, have healed my broken heart. I just had to take the first step and reach out. I know now that I am not alone; I have my family by my side, again.  

     Cami and I drove down for our last sunset in Nati’s beat-up blue jeep. We stopped and said hello to Jaco, who greeted us with a smile and gave us another little white paper box. We sat down on the warm white sand together. 

     I held her in my arms and told her, “This is your island, this is your family, and you are always welcome here.”   

     I gently held her face in my hands and kissed her forehead. I put my arm around her, and we watched the sun go down, and I whispered in the wind, “Gracias, Mamá. Te amo mucho, Te amare por siempre”