Cherishing Memories: A Reflection on Loss and Family
Written on
Chapter 1: A Day of Remembrance
St. Patrick's Day holds a complicated significance for me. While I harbor no ill feelings toward the Irish culture or Catholicism, my fond memories of green beer and my mother’s corned beef and cabbage are overshadowed by a profound sense of loss. My grandmother passed away on this day.
Each March 17th, I find myself reminiscing about her and contemplating how different my life might have been had she survived the tragic car accident in 1999. This year marks a quarter-century since one of the most painful days of my life, a milestone that feels surreal given all that has transpired since then. In these years, I've experienced countless milestones—graduations, weddings, births, and even deaths—all of which remind me of her absence. My grandmother was a cornerstone of my childhood, and her memory lingers as I reflect on a lifetime spent without her.
Interestingly, I've come to realize that my current life might not have unfolded as it did if she were still alive today or had lived for a few more years.
I grew up in Arcadia, California, and later in Alhambra. When I was eleven, in 1993, my family relocated to Washington state. This transition was challenging for many reasons, and leaving my grandmother behind was a significant factor. Although we still managed to visit her, our encounters shifted from nearly every day to just once a year. Those visits rarely lasted more than a couple of weeks, and as my brother and I matured, the time we spent together grew increasingly insufficient.
From sixth grade onward, I dreamed of returning to California after high school, eager to reclaim my freedom at eighteen. I envisioned moving back in with my grandmother, who had lived in her Alhambra home for decades, just a few blocks from my childhood. Her house sat on a spacious lot with two additional rental units, providing ample space for me. I could help her around the house, practice my Spanish, and potentially explore opportunities in Los Angeles. However, had I been able to spend those years with her, I might not have met my wife or built the family I cherish today.
On that fateful day, March 17, 1999, my brother and I had just returned from skateboarding—our favorite pastime. We were eager to enjoy our mother’s corned beef and cabbage when we sensed something was wrong. My mom was on the phone, her voice filled with panic, while our stepdad looked at us anxiously. The news was devastating: my grandmother had been in a car accident while visiting Costa Rica. Thankfully, she didn’t die immediately; however, she later succumbed to her injuries in the hospital, leaving us all in shock at the age of 71—ironically, the same age my mother is now.
Twenty-five years later, I still grieve for her, yet I also feel grateful for the gift she left behind—my wife and children. It’s a strange, bittersweet thought, but true nonetheless. I kept my promise to return to California after high school, moving briefly to Cathedral City before settling at Cal State San Bernardino. Although I never returned to the San Gabriel Valley, I’ve maintained connections through friends and family. I met my wife in the Inland Empire in 2009, where we've built our life together.
My mother is visiting from Washington, and since moving to Southern California, our time together has been limited to once a year. These visits hold tremendous significance, especially as time slips away from us. During this trip, we’ve already enjoyed Disneyland, a memorable—and pricey—experience, and we look forward to celebrating my son’s birthday in early April before she heads back. We’ll share laughter and create cherished memories, all while navigating the usual family dynamics.
In the end, I’ll honor my grandmother by carrying her spirit with love throughout the years we have left together.