None of us were ready for how quiet Abuela had become. She hadn’t spoken in days. This was the same woman who once scolded a police officer for parking on her lawn, who whistled while making arroz con leche. Now she just lay there, small and still.
Then Nico walked in. Just fifteen, wearing the shirt she gave him. He held her hand and whispered, “Abuela, I came.” Her eyes flickered open, and with surprising strength, she reached up to touch his cheek. That tiny gesture said more than words ever could.
Hours later, Nico came out, eyes red. “She’s sleeping… but I think she heard me.” The next morning, he showed me her golden locket. “She gave it to me,” he whispered. Inside was engraved: Para mi niño, siempre. For my boy, always.
That afternoon, she found the strength to whisper three final words: “I love you. Always.” Then she drifted away peacefully, leaving Nico with her greatest gift—her love, her legacy, and the bond they shared.
Sometimes the best gift you can give is simply showing up.
