Daire
By the time it’s all said and done—by the time Paloma’s grave is properly dug and we’re gathered around it—the first light of dawn is beginning to break. The shell of sky cracking into a riot of color that drips toward our heads, as we lower my grandmother’s body into the earth, putting it to its final rest beside her only son.
I watch the progression with dry eyes and a scratchy, parched throat. Remembering what Paloma told me the first time I came here—that I shouldn’t confuse it with my father. That he no longer remains in this place. It’s merely a place for the body to rest. The soul has moved on.
“Your father is everywhere,” she said. “His soul’s been released, freed from the earth. Left to become one with the wind that blows through your hair, the dirt that shifts under your feet. He’s the rain in the storm cloud that hovers over those mountains beyond … he’s the bloom in every flower. He is one with the energy of the earth. He is everywhere you look. Which means you can speak to him here, just as easily as you can speak to him anywhere. And, if you go very quiet, and listen with care, you just might hear his reply.”
I focus on the Sangre de Cristo mountain range with its snowcapped, meringue-like peaks. Remembering the reverent set of Paloma’s gaze as she turned to face them that day. Then I search
among my friends, seeing Xotichl huddled under the reliable shelter of Auden’s love, as Dace keeps a close eye on me while supporting Chepi, his mom. Leftfoot and Cree, faces slick with the effort of digging, wipe beads of grime from their chins as they take a few moments to honor Paloma. As Lita stands beside Axel, keeping a respectable distance, though there’s no denying the spark that sizzles between them. While Harlan provides comfort to a sobbing Jennika, and Chay, stoic as ever, stands beside me.
My family and friends all relying on me to keep them from the same fate as my abuela.
But how can I possibly do that when the one person whose guidance I most depend on is no longer here?
“And, if you go very quiet, and listen with care, you just might hear his reply” … Paloma’s voice sounds in my head.
If the words hold true for my father, then I can only assume they hold true for my grandmother as well. And now, more than ever, I need to hear her reply.
Need some proof she’s still with me.
I tilt my face skyward, desperate for answers.
Seeking guidance, an omen, or, at the very least, some hint of acknowledgment.
The clouds gather and spread.
Somewhere nearby a bird chirps, greeting the day.
Then, seemingly out of nowhere, a murder of crows bursts into sight. Soaring in slow perfect circles right over our heads.
“Your birth was heralded by crows,” Chay says, as a sniffling Jennika blows into her wadded-up tissue and nods to confirm it.
I keep my gaze trained on the birds, watching as a lone black figure breaks free of the flock.
This one bigger.
Its wingspan wider.
Its beak distinctly hooked.
And when it lets out a long, plaintive caw, the sound is guttural and deep.
A raven.
The thought confirmed by the single black feather that drifts from the sky and lands at my feet.
“It’s a sign,” Chay says, watching as I stoop to examine it. “An omen if there ever was one.”
I swallow hard, start to ask what it means, but the answer is clear.
With Paloma gone, I’m the last of the Santos.
It’s time for me to stand in her place.
Time for me to fly solo.
forty-six