GESULA

 July 12th, 2026

This time around last week, my grandma passed. her name was Gesula. 

A name I am ashamed to admit I forgot she was called. For a long time she has been:

Grandmère. 

Granmè.

Grandma. 

Madan Gerard. 

And on occasions so far and few they're closer to distant memory, she was Gesula. 

Her passing didn't come as a total surprise, but it's been a shock nonetheless. And I find myself feeling a sudden bout of anger and grief now that I couldn't quite access even five days ago. 

It feels so unfair to me that her life came and went, undoubtedly without pain, and where is her retribution? Where is her Iris Avenue? Where is she now? Did she suffer? Did she think of me before transitioning?  

It's dawning on me that I don't have many photos of her, if any. I do not know the intimate details of her life. I don't know the name of her parents, whether she had siblings, her favorite food, or anything that made her a human. 

I know bits and pieces of her life. Her experience being a lifelong victim of domestic violence. Her two male children being the products of marital violence and rape. I know that she worked hard and toiled for a long time to survive. I know that in part, because of her, I am here. 

It's hitting me hard, because I know someday, I might be someone's grandma. I don't want to think that I'll only exist as some mythic and archetypal being in their life story. That all traces of my humanity will cease to exist. We're moving through this thing called time like water through a pipe, not fully cognizant of the fact that there is an endpoint to it all. A destination. 

I'm dancing through this thing called time, grasping at hairs, trying to make the experience comfortable, but I only have two hands. Whatever I drop in an attempt to grab something else is dancing in time, but eventually it'll hit the ground. I let go of my mom and dad, my sister, my inner world in an attempt to grab other things (money, status, power, etc.) and when I turned back, everything had shifted before my very eyes. I'm watching my parents age, and wondering how I'll get to protect them. The shame in this whole thing is that I only have two hands. 

I don't exactly remember what my grandma looked or smelled like. I faintly remember her soft hands holding mine, but my hands have grown since, were her hands soft until the very end?

I just feel so sorry about it all. Not getting the chance to hug her more. Not getting a chance to talk to her more. Not just as a grandma, but as a woman, a person with a story. 

Now my home has been ransacked from the inside out, and I couldn't go back, even if I really wanted to. There's no one there, and I hardly remember the Haiti of my childhood at all. 

Life is but a fever dream these days, I wonder what'll be left over once I open my eyes again. 

Today, I am missing my grandma. 

Gesula.

Thank you, gran for all you've done for me. 

I love you. I miss you. I hope you are okay, wherever you are. 

- vetiveroil