This is a photo of my maternal grandmother, Josephine.
Very recently she was over my house watching novellas. Between commercials, she would delve into long stories about her childhood or her past in general (as per usual). Like some of the times, it is a story I have already heard, but like always, I love to hear her tell it. Specifically, she started talking about her father and her mother and their terrible relationship and the hardships she endured growing up in that home.
Her father was abusive. Her mother did not want to be a mother, so she left my grandmother to tend for own siblings. Her mother was so negligent, she refused to obey her doctor's orders and only four of her twelve children survived infancy. (My grandmother can still name every single one of her siblings.) After disclosing a long history of shit I am grateful I never had to witness, she paused and commented, as if speaking out loud to herself. She said [of her parents] and it will always stick with me, like a line from any of my favorite poems: "vivieron muy equivocados."
There is a right way and a wrong way to live your life.
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