I know many of you have noticed my inconsistency with the blog this year, and I want to share a bit of my journey. This year has been a challenging one, as I’ve dedicated much of my time to healing and focusing on my mental health. Little did I know what 2025 would bring; just when I thought things couldn’t get tougher, they did.
If you’ve read my previous post or follow me on social media, you know that my beloved grandma passed away on May 30th. Processing her loss has been incredibly difficult. Some days, it feels like I’m trapped in a dream from which I just can’t wake up. Writing has always been my therapy—a way to express my feelings but I couldn’t find the strength to even write on the blog. This year I’ve faced profound sadness, and losing Abuela was the last thing I ever expected. Our bond was very unique and special; it was even more profound and meaningful these past years I had been living with her.
A week before she passed, my grandma suffered a stroke literally in front of me. I didn’t recognize it at first; she had been in such good spirits, healthy and full of life, always making jokes and singing. Then, all of a sudden, everything changed. Though she had faced similar circumstances before, she always bounced back.
This time was different. Her stroke was severe, and we were told she had only weeks to a month left. She was moved to hospice care at home, and it felt surreal.
Although my sister serves as our mother’s guardian and caregiver, she traveled to New York before Grandma passed away. She could sense I needed support, and she also wanted to be by Grandma’s side. I’m incredibly grateful for her presence during this difficult time and for my brother-in-law, who stepped in to care for Mom while Ashley was with me.
Grandma passed away hours after Ashley arrived. Before her death, my sister and I shared a beautiful moment together, praying and singing hymns to Grandma. It was a peaceful and precious time, a bittersweet farewell for her transition into the presence of God.
Navigating her death has been one of the hardest trials of my life. She was a tremendous part of my world, and I feel her absence in everything I do and every moment. The house feels empty and lonely without her. I never knew the depths of depression until 2025. There are days when I wonder if I could have done more—if I could have acted faster or if there was something I missed in that moment. The “what-ifs” haunt me.
Planning her funeral was one of the most challenging tasks I’ve ever faced. Yet, I pushed through my pain because I wanted to honor her and the incredible woman she was. The funeral service was held at a beautiful church that was the exact copy and image of the church my grandfather had founded and I grew up in. It was the perfect setting. The service turned into a beautiful celebration of grandmas life, surrounded by her children and grandchildren. Many came to honor abuela. She was very loved. My sister Ashley and I sang a song together—our voices united once more, we hadn’t sung in a church setting in many years. In our youth, there were countless times when Grandma would come to church just to hear us sing, and that memory stays with us, filling our hearts with love and gratitude.
We laid her to rest in Puerto Rico, exactly as she always wished.
Even though my heart aches with every passing day, I remind myself that she lived a long, fulfilling life—94 beautiful years. I often think about how I had just gifted her a betta fish about 2 months before she left us as an early birthday surprise.
Alongside the stroke, my grandma fought against Alzheimer’s. Witnessing her struggle with memory loss was heartbreaking. This battle feels all too familiar; years ago, I cared for my aunt who had dementia, and now my mother faces challenges with both dementia and Alzheimer’s. It is devastating to see how these diseases impact the lives of our loved ones and the toll it takes on us as caregivers.
Though the pain is heavy, I carry her memory with me every day, and I strive to honor her legacy through love, resilience, hope and mostly by keeping her sense of humor alive. Te amo abuela.
Be You, Be Lovely
Charlene Gonzalez
