The spirit of my grandmother lives on through me

Teresa Quintana, my grandmother (on my mother’s side) descended from a long line of Spanish Americans (a nice way of saying Conquistadors), who came to northern New Mexico about 400 years ago and settled near Sante Fe. For many years, she and my grandfather ran a cattle ranch, and after he died, she and my uncle partnered to quadruple the ranch. She knew how to work with people and was one of the sharpest businesspeople I have ever known. I loved and spoiled her, sending her religious gifts and postcards from my worldly travels as well as calling her every couple of weeks. She appreciated all this attention and acknowledged this by telling me that while she loved all her grandchildren equally, she mentioned my name and my brother’s first (before my cousins’) during her nightly prayers. LOL. She was one loving and savvy operator right up to her death, in 2008, at the age of 91.

While I am not religious person, I do find myself talking to my grandmother from time to time, especially about business issues and becoming a known donor, and the challenges that come up. Sometimes, I can almost hear her whispering to me, “Joey, keep going, my m'ijito, just like your grandpa and I used to do. Why not try this or that way? Put yourself out there and God will guide you.”

I still love my grandmother. Here is a brief eulogy I wrote for her memorial service.

“M'ijito”

“M'ijito” (me-HEE-toe)…that’s what my grandma called me, which is a common term of endearment, often used by older Spaniards and Mexicans, that means my little one.

And that’s what she called everyone else, too. For as long as I can remember, the words m'ijita, m'ijitos, m'ijitas flowed from my grandmother’s heart to nearly everyone. Like communion wafers being dispensed during an Easter mass.

Yet I wasn’t jealous of the others because Grandma had enough love for all of us. Her “m'ijito” for me always felt special and personal.

Growing up far away from her ranch in Las Vegas, New Mexico in a world of Anglos, I discovered that some of my friends had grandmothers who were more educated, urbane and fancy. But none of these friends seemed loved any more than me. Nor did they know the pleasure of being served her warm sopapias dripped with honey. And, most certainly, nobody called them m'ijito.

One time, about 15 years ago, on a quick business trip to Dallas, the pilot announced that on the right side on the plane was Las Vegas, New Mexico. So I called Grandma on the airphone and gamely announced that I was in town. “M'ijito!” she exclaimed, “Then you must come and visit me.” We shared a good laugh after I explained that I was 30,000 feet above her.

Since she couldn’t leave her house due to a chronic medical condition, my grandmother was always encouraging all of us to come visit her, because, as everyone knew, she liked to be at the center of things. Nothing made her happier than sitting at the kitchen table, with her house full of people, listening to the stories of her m'ijitos and m'ijitas, absorbing their every word.

She was curious about the world, even though she had seen relatively little of it, living instead through her family’s stories and accomplishments. On one of my visits, with her eyesight failing, she craned her head close to my computer screen, straining to see my pictures of Asia with a magnifying glass, all the while saying, “Oh yes, m'ijito, that’s n-i-c-e.” She really meant it.

My grandma was also a big worrier, concerned about the endless weather and ranch problems, how hard my uncles worked or her relatives who were going through tough times. But when she was finished fretting, she would pause, and brighten and say in her wonderfully fatalistic way, “M'ijito, but what can we do?”

But my grandmother knew exactly what she could do, and every night, she did it: praying for her entire family. Knowing this made me feel braver and safer… having my very kind and willful grandmother advocating on my behalf, during her daily conversation with God. I counted on Grandma’s spiritual support.

So on my last visit with her, less than two weeks ago, I knew Grandma’s time was near when she reversed our usual roles by asking me to say a special prayer for her. Drawing me close, as I was leaving, she said in a whisper, “M'ijito, please pray to our Holy Father and ask him to make some room for me in heaven.” Surprised by her request, I promised I would. I did and he listened. Even though she had no life-threatening illness or disease, two weeks later, she passed in her sleep. So characteristically, she died on her terms and timing.

Yes, I am going to miss my Teresa Quintana. She was such a caring and dynamic force, our beloved family matriarch. But I am glad that she finally is at peace. And grateful, so grateful to have been deeply touched by her love and to have been her m'ijito.

-- May 2008