My beautiful grandmother passed away this morning. After being ravaged for eight years by dementia, she was finally set free from deteriorating body. Bless her!

This former Spanish-American beauty looked so tired and lost at the end of her life, breaking my heart every time I see this photo. My grandmother, Donna or Donato, loved and honored me as her first grandchild, showering me with love for over 50 years and completely accepting the fact that I was gay.  More than anything, she wanted me to be happy.

Every time I left her place, she would send me off with her delicious Spanish meat pies that I would snack on for the next week.  One time, my college roommate asked me what made her pies taste so good.  His question caught me by surprise because I hadn't really thought about it before, so I paused and then answered, "she uses spicy Spanish chorizo from the best shop on the East Coast, but most importantly, these pies are made with pure love."

By the way, the above photo shows four generations of my family, including my 63-year-old aunt, my cousin with her one-year-old daughter. Below is a picture of the next generation of my family, featuring five cousins who all have some Hispanic blood -- from Portugal, Spain, and/or Puerto Rico, in addition to other European ethnicities. They are the face of this Obama-era world, a place of mixed races and groups. My grandmother loved them as much as I do.