Abuelas Home.

The ghost in my house is leaving.

It came 3 months ago, when Abuela died of a heart attack in her sleep. I woke up to a coughing fit, gurgled screams and the sobbing of my Mama on the phone. That night felt like a dream, blurred around the edges, colours fading as days went by. I felt the water cupped in my too-small hands slowly dripping between the cracks, and yet no matter how much I squeezed and grabbed, the water would only fall faster. Now, I found it harder to remember my Abuela, only a soft smile and softer voice, that sang Spanish lullabies and told olden stories.

There were small things, tiny little things that made me think she might have overstayed her welcome, however.

I thought at nights, sometimes, I would hear the low rumbling of her vacuum cleaner sweeping the floors in short movements. I made sure to never leave too much of a mess on the floor, remembering how she would berate me for having to bend down and pick up my clothes and toys.

Other times, I saw her rosary move around the house, one day in the kitchen and another in the lounge. I knew she watched, and I made sure to keep the telly on a little longer whenever her favourite cooking show was on.

And every time I smelt lemons waft in through our open windows, I just knew she had come back from grocery shopping at the local ghost market. I wanted so badly to turn on the oven for her, so that maybe I would wake up to a backed lemon pie, but I could already imagine the expression on poor Mama's face. Instead, I left one cup of sugar out on the counter, and it was never there when I came back.

It's been 2 weeks, however, since I last heard the vacuem cleaner. It's been 8 days since the rosary had moved, and 3 days since I last smelt lemons.

Mama no longer cried at nights, no longer stayed looking at Abuelas portrait on the mantel. She hid the rosary in the car rather than in the house, and bought a new vacuum cleaner that worked far more efficiently than the last every could. Mama took most of Abuelas clothes to a charity store around the corner, and closed the house windows saying it was too cold for them to be open, no matter how many lemons tempted us.

And I watched as the ghost slowly left, no doubt feeling very unwelcome by Mama's actions. I was upset at Mama, how dare she move Abuelas things. Didn't she remember that Abuela had an old mind, and wouldn't find something if it was misplaced?

I tried to confront Mama, but she just sighed and patted me on the head, saying "It's going to be ok princesa, she will always be here", she pointing to my heart, "there is no need for life to pause because she is no longer sleeping in her bed and reading in her armchair."

With this, she left for Sunday church, and I was left playing with the idea that Abuela had just been relocating somewhere safer, more welcoming then a house she couldn't interact with.

I hoped my heart, as Mama had implied, would remember Abuela far more than my memories were able to. Would serve her better, treat her kindly, understand the Spanish words and lessons that i never understood. The ghost, shadow, memories, whatever they're called, of Abuela hadn't been leaving, just hiding, and I was happy in the knowledge that my heart would beat for both of us.

Abuela was home, and she was stubborn enough to never leave it. Death was a fool for thinking otherwise.