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My grandmother named me, and from that moment she welcomed me as a daughter.
When the fog came to her mind, I became the caretaker of her life and death.
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Death was very kind to me and to her. It did not come as a surprise, and I appreciate that. Now that she is not here, I embrace every memory, every word and every kiss.
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I have been told that pain is like waves. The mourning became the sea, that sea that she was so afraid of in life. A fear that got into my bones and was a part of most of my adulthood.
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The waves are coming today and there is room to breathe.
Her memory runs through my veins, my childhood is present, and the salt water washes my soul.
I live between tears and the sea.
Her last teaching was given to me from afar: her death taught me to swim.
Throughout the month of February, as a complement to our “Women, Not Numbers” edition, we will be publishing the reflections of photographers in Costa Rica about the women they most admire.
