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Her name was Manuela B. Luna, but she had
been called Abuelita, the Spanish word for Grandmother, by
almost everyone for many years. Abuelita thought she had stayed
long enough in this world and did not want to spend another year
here. After all, she was 89 years old and had not felt well over
the last few years. There wasn't much purpose to her life and
she was tired.
She chose the last day of the year 1992 for
dying. She had been born in Mexico of Indian heritage, but had
grown up near San Antonio, Texas. Her mother had told her and
taught her some of the old ways of the Indians.
Mrs. Luna had been married twice, lost a
child in infancy and raised a family of three girls and two
boys. One son and a daughter had already predeceased her. Both
husbands were gone and she lived alone.
Late in the afternoon of the 30th of
December, she called her youngest daughter and some of her
grandchildren to let them know she would be dying tomorrow, to
please come and see her. The family did not know if this was
true as she had not been sick lately. But, they did not want to
take any chances. So they went, prepared to stay as long as they
were needed. Her daughter Connie came and asked her mother if
she could take her to a doctor. "No, I don't want or need a
doctor," was her reply.
Later some of the grandchildren arrived.
They prepared food and ate the evening meal and Abuelita ate
heartily, sitting at the table. Several of them stayed the
night, taking turns staying awake in the event she needed them.
Abuelita slept off and on most of the night, going to the
bathroom once, walking unassisted.
The following morning Abuelita got up,
walked to the window, and looked out. The day was overcast and
windy with some light rain. She announced that it looked like a
fine day to die. She gave instructions that the doctor or
mortician not be called until she was dead at least two hours.
They were to make sure she was dead before making the call.
She had a little food and drank water and
coffee during the day. About five o'clock she left her bed to go
to the bathroom, bringing back a glass of water. She had
mentioned earlier how some people wet themselves after death and
asked her daughter to change her clothes if she did this, before
calling the undertaker to come. Connie asked her if it would be
alright if she phoned her older sister. Abuelita replied, "Am I
dead yet? I told you yesterday not to call her until I am gone.
She makes me nervous, hovering over me."
Abuelita lit a cigarette, sat on the side
of the bed drinking water and smoking. She put her rosary around
her neck. Her lips were moving in prayer. Once finished, she
laid back on the bed, and crossed her arms over her chest.
Abuelita took several deep breaths and was gone. There were six
people in the room looking at each other and wondering how she
did that. What had they witnessed?
After confirming she really was dead, they
sat in stunned silence, not knowing what to say as things had
been so normal until the last breath. They waited the required
two hours before calling the funeral home. She had truly picked
a fine day to die. She did it her way and we still don't know
how she could just decide, and then proceed to do it. Wouldn't
it be wonderful if we all could choose our day?
Authors note: Mrs. Luna is my
daughter-in-law's grandmother. I visited her house about two
hours before her death but was not present at the passing. I
still find it hard to believe.
Clara
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