Elizabeth M. Del Barrio

*Letter to my cousin Elizabeth (Chavita), from my garden and my sorrow*

Today, after a downpour that seemed to come from the soul of heaven itself,
I saw a white calla lily in my garden—clean, open,
bathed in droplets that I couldn’t tell if they were rain or tears.

I stood there looking at it for a long while,
like someone trying to understand the invisible.
And I understood that in that flower was my grief,
my deep sorrow over her departure.
Its whiteness reminded me of the stillness that absence leaves behind,
and each droplet sliding down its petals spoke to me of what I feel…
of what I cannot quite put into words.

Chavita, it hurts so much to know that I can no longer embrace you,
that I couldn’t be near Jorge, Paul, Stephanie, and their children
in this moment when the world trembles and everything becomes silence.
My heart is with them,
I think of them every day, and from this distance—so heavy—I accompany them with all that I have.

I like to imagine her arriving at that place where our ancestors dwell,
that sacred space where the light is warm and time cannot wound.
There, surely, she was received with joy: Mamita, Papatuco, the aunts, Ratona, my Monita,
my mother, my father, Germán, Héctor, Capi, Pepe…
the list is long,
but we remain united, because I’m certain only her physical body faded away.

Now that she’s already there, please tell me: how do you see us?
I’ll wait for you in my dreams, so we can talk.

Thank you, Chavita…
Thank you for everything life allowed us to share.
Thank you for being, in so many moments, my cousin, my sister, and my friend.
But above all, thank you for always opening the doors of your home to me,
for making me feel I had a refuge there,
a place where I was always welcome.
Your home was my home, and that is something I will never forget.

Today, this white calla lily covered in water is the perfect image of what I feel:
the beauty of having crossed paths with you in this life, and the pain of your absence.
But it is also my hope, because like that flower,
I too trust that one day we’ll meet again,
when the soul returns home
and the long-awaited embrace is finally fulfilled.

From this shore and from my heart, I embrace you, I embrace myself, and I embrace everyone who feels your absence.
With love,
Cacaya