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.
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.
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.
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.