by Taina Patmore

Created on: July 04, 2009

Why is it that no matter where you walk the sunbeams always make their way right into your eyes so you have to squint and the entire world looks like it's been repainted in pastels? I don't know how I know where to go. I haven't been here since the funeral in November, and I didn't drive that time. They parked somewhere so I only had 50 feet to walk until I reached the big tent in front of the casket. There were mountains of flowers in shades of white and green and red. The only flowers today are the small bunches left behind by loved ones.

I don't know how, but here I am walking on the frozen dirt towards a black metal marker: "Myrna Perez Almayda- Beloved Mother Cherished Grandmother". I don't know what to do now that I'm here. I look around-there's no one here, but me and thousands of headstones with or without flowers and tiny American flags. I look back down and squat to see the marker. It's metal. I touch it and it is cold.

It starts in my chest and moves up to the back of my throat. I don't know how to stop it or where it came from, and suddenly, painfully hot tears spill down my face. I don't bother to wipe them off. I welcome this pain as punishment. I deserve it. I deserve much worse than this.

I have a huge extended family. My mother has 13 siblings, all married with kids. I have 30 first cousins that are to me what your brothers and sisters are to you. My mother's mom never really liked me, or paid much attention to me once I was more than a toddler, but I never held it against her. She's got 31 grandkids. She can afford to pick favorites. I'm just not one of them. As a matter of fact, neither are my brothers. My immediate family has been black sheeped by the rest of the family. I've never been sure why. Of my nuclear familial unit, I am the black sheep as a result of my recklessly right-brained behavior. There is no room for an artist, an actress, or a writer in a family of scientists or lawyers.

My Dad is an only child. He was raised by his mother. He never really knew his father. So my two older brothers and I were my Grandma's only grandchildren. I am the only girl. I was Grandma's treasure. In my entire life no one had ever loved me like she did. She was the only person I've ever known that never thought I was a black sheep. Before the last time I saw her, I hadn't seen her in six months. Then she died.

I could have seen her. Every Sunday my dad went into Brooklyn to visit her. When we were little we had to go. I hated those trips.

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