My Yaya & I
*Si prefieres leerlo en español, haz clic aquí*
I aspire to be my Yaya. For more than 22 years, she filled my life with love and adventure. It is hard to encapsulate her or what she meant to me, she is one of a kind and I would not be me without her.
I always described her to friends as a cross between the TV show Modern Family’s Gloria (Sofia Vergara) and Audrey Hepburn; she was exceedingly classy, stunning, and put together while at the same time had no filter, had the most flamboyant personality, and was sure to remind you of what she thought.
We used to tease her because she could not remember that Alex’s favorite sandwich was a “grilled cheese” not a “cheese grilled.” And, because her Spanish accent was sometimes so thick that she said things like “beeesa” instead of visa or “soohcoolent” instead of succulent. She always took it in stride and could laugh at herself.
She was the most thoughtful person I have ever met. Yaya is the reason I love handwritten notes. Every year without fail I got a birthday card in the mail, as well as, a Halloween card, Easter card, and often a Valentine’s Day card because she wanted to make sure I had at least one Valentine. She sent me care packages in college, made photo books to remember moments, and always made me feel special.
In her own home, she always had freshly cut flowers in homemade flower arrangements, taught me how to properly set the table, and always prioritized the small details and traditions. Us grandkids also knew that she without fail had chocolate in the fridge shelf and Dove mini ice creams in the freezer.
Helping others was highly important to her and over the years she constantly volunteered to support women and children, most recently “adopting” and mentoring kids at Florida’s Guadalupe Center.
When we were together, our family reunions were spectacular. My Yaya was the most phenomenal person at rallying our family together and always made sure our time together was memorable. We have had family reunions in places like Italy, Yosemite National Park, and Greece. When we graduated from high school, my brother and I lived with my grandparents for a whole summer in Spain.
Her and my grandfather instilled in me a curiosity and unshakable fascination with the world. Together we have visited practically every continent from Europe, Latin America, and North America to Australia and Asia. Since I was little, Yaya filled my life with experiences and adventures rather than things.
She believed in me and supported me in ways that few others did. Yaya never picked us up at the airport without a bag full of cherries. She spoke to me only in Spanish so that I would always be fluent. She could tell over the phone when I was off and would send me emoji-filled texts, checking in on me.
When I got the opportunity to shadow a producer at Radio Free Europe my junior year of high school, my grandparents volunteered to take me to Prague so that my parents would let me go. They came to visit me in New York City when I got my first internship. My Yaya helped me hang paintings and move into my first apartment in Los Angeles. She comforted (and teased) me through a broken finger in Barcelona when I fell because my crocs were two sizes too big and when I faceplanted the first time I had one too many drinks as an 18-year-old a decade later.
Yaya is the reason I fell in love with cooking, she was a da Vinci in the kitchen. In fifth grade, I became obsessed with learning how to make a chicken pot pie. So, my Spanish grandmother helped me master this American classic. We have spent hours together in the kitchen and I have taken to trying to recreate many of her famous dishes. She has walked me through cooking her legendary meatballs, soups, tortilla de patata, and paella.
She could peel an orange in one single piece, rarely needed a recipe, and knew exactly how something was supposed to taste. I would FaceTime her when I was unsure if I was making something correctly or needed cooking tips, and would proudly send her pictures of any success I had in the kitchen. On Christmas this past year, I excitedly woke up early, not because of gifts, but to help my Yaya make things like sopa de nadal, canelones, and empanadas. Yesterday, I spent hours going through her stacks of hand-written recipes, thinking about how much more I have to learn.
She was the life of the party. When I was little, she had a closet full of costumes to play dress-up and put on shows. Yaya was the first person on the dance floor, was a wonderful entertainer, and people were drawn to talk to her. She was popular and I would tease her that her social life was more exciting than mine in college. She played mahjong twice a week, went to events at her neighborhood clubhouse, and always excelled at theme nights or Halloween.
Yaya taught me self-care. She would pause each day to spend time watching the sunset. At 79-years-old, she could still do a 2-minute plank and worked out at least five days a week. I remember how thrilled I was when I was seven and she let me go with her to yoga class for the first time. Yaya loved yoga, so I learned to love it too. She taught me how to sew so that I could fix my own holes and buttons. She bought me my first journal. She got a manicure weekly, and her toenails were almost always painted cherry red. I have realized that because of Yaya, my toenails are similarly always painted red. She never left the house without lipstick and lip liner, and Yaya never looked anything short of beautiful.
❤
It pains me to know that Yaya will never receive my mother’s day gift in the mail, we will never get to take our trip to Costa Rica we planned, she will not be there when I graduate college in a few weeks, and she will not be there to help me get ready on my wedding day. I will not get to hear her stories or her laugh. But, I am lucky. I had more than twenty-two years with the most caring and endearing woman who made everyone else’s lives significantly better because she was in them. I hope to one day be as incredible of a wife, mother, grandmother, and friend as my Yaya, Araceli Bosch.
I miss you every day, Yaya, and love you more than you could imagine, thank you for inspiring me to be the best version of myself.
March 28, 1941 — April 18, 2020
