“That booklet isn’t worth anything. Let it rot with the old woman.”
My father threw my grandmother’s savings booklet onto the open coffin, just before they lowered the box into the damp earth of the cemetery.
No one said anything.
Not my uncles. Not my cousins. Not the priest who had just prayed the final blessing. Everyone just stared at that little blue booklet, stained with mud, as if it were trash. As if it had not been the last thing Doña Guadalupe, my Grandma Lupita, had left me in this world.
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