Lenina Villela

Today my grandmother would have turned 100. She’s been gone for 25 years. I always remember her, and I often feel like I need her here to tell her things that happen to me and ask for her advice. She loved plants and flowers and was fascinated by natural phenomena. I think she would have been an extraordinary biologist if she’d been able to study. She always encouraged me to study.

Then one day, after a horrible month in the hospital, she passed away. She had such a big heart that it literally couldn’t fit in her chest. Those awful last weeks made me wonder why people end up in such places, where you are stripped from your autonomy and dignity, and the patient’s family is treated with such disdain. Finally they left us all on our own. It shouldn’t have to be like that.

Our culture has made the process of dying something to be ashamed of, and something to hide from everyone. And these days I’m thinking a lot about death, my own death. I for sure don’t want to end up in a hospital. When you are stripped of all control and autonomy over your life and body, and confined to a strange and hostile place, you become more vulnerable to death. It is literally the opposite of what it should be.

This illustration is for her. She had a beautiful rosebush. Now, pink roses always remind me of her.