VOLUNTEER EXPERIENCE

WHERE WE LIE

Story written for Grace Alvarez
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AUGUST 8, 2014-  I sat on that plane. The sound of the engine filling my ears, the flight attendants instructing us on how to put on a life vest. But still I felt oblivious to everything around me. I could not wait to see the family I had over there. It had been years since I last saw them, and I hoped nothing had changed. I did not picture everything to be so different. I have felt lost for so long, I thought that maybe this trip would change that. Making this black and white world more tolerable to exist in.
To my excitement, once we opened those airport doors, thirty or so people awaited our arrival. My family. It took about five vans to take us all towards my uncle’s house, where we stayed for the night. While all the men, children and some women came to pick us up, most women stayed back preparing a feast for our arrival. The city life in Ecuador was not too modern, as the economy was not thriving then and still is not to this day. The houses were old but nice, the people were simple but not poor. When it comes to the food though, it was just amazing. Late at night, we settled down, ate, freshened up and went to bed. The next day is when the real journey began.
Showers in Ecuador are like a battle; You have to prepare for it. It is expensive to own machines that warm up water over there. The ice cold water that sat on the roof for days and  nights on end would have to do. The two hour taxi ride to my grandfather's ranch with no air conditioning or space was a long, hot drive. It was worth it though. Driving through the little village of Laurel, I saw one particular little girl. She held her doll tightly and waved at me with a big smile. One that I will never forget. We finally arrived at the farm and I saw how much it had changed over the years. Renovations, fewer animals, the river was drying up and less people were around. I could say that I let my imagination run wild when I was a kid or that I saw the world differently. After unpacking, we walked around the village and greeted friends from my mother’s past. There she was again, the smiling little girl who waved to me when we passed through the village. I was freaked out by her because I saw her everywhere we went. Until one day I did not. It had been a week since I last seen her at the cemetery when I visited my deceased grandmother. I asked my grandfather who the girl was and he said her name was Grace. As it turns out my grandmother took care of that girl because she did not have a family to look after her. Her father worked in the mines and did not come home until late at night. Her mother passed away giving birth to her. She has two older siblings, a brother and a sister. The brother works with the father and the sister works in a factory an hour away from their home. She is alone for most of the day. My grandmother fed her as she was malnourished and suffered from a heart defect. After hearing her story, I knew I had to find her. I asked around the village and finally found her. I found her lying in bed with a fever that was only getting worse. That was only the beginning. They could not afford a trip to the doctor. Nothing could be done.
I stayed with her for days. I stayed when her sister could not. I saw a child slowly die in front of my eyes. Even though she and I both knew that time was running out, that did not stop her from lighting up a room with her glowing smile. Around her last few days, she said this one line that stays with me up to this day, “Dios es bueno” (“God is good”). I was angry with God for taking her away from her family. From me. I connected with her deeply and losing her would be like losing sister. But she was fine with her fate and accepted it. On her last day, I went over early in the morning with some flowers that I picked up on the way there. Her whole family surrounded her bed. She was dying. I knelt by her side and asked her to fight. She told me she was done and tired. She asked me if she could sleep for a while. I remember her last words like it was just yesterday. “Te quiero mano, cuidate”(“I love you brother, take care”). With a smile, she closed her eyes and I said “Goodnight, sleep tight my angel.”
Her family could not afford a casket. They buried her in a field of yellow flowers. I was told, when Grace was healthy she would go to that field and sing all day. That was her happy place. I imagined her at that instant in heaven with her mom playing in acres upon acres of flowers, smiling, and brightening up the sky the only way she knew how. By being herself.
I noticed that everywhere Grace went she carved a heart onto something. In the cemetery, a heart was carved into the tree next to my grandmother’s grave. More and more, I began to notice these hearts everywhere. On walls, sidewalks, trees, planks of wood. I asked her older brother what they meant and he said it stood for what Grace saw the world as. She pictured that everyone had a heart; that we all deserve to love and to be happy.
This artifact is a symbol of Grace’s heart. A box of flowers that grow and die but continue to live on in others. I tried to find flowers that were similar to those in the field she was buried in and these were as close as I could find. Not a day goes by where I forget that smile. She inspired me to see the world in a new perspective. We all grow and die. It is the time in between that we are given to make our marks on this world. To change it.
R.I.P Grace Alvarez. 03/18/2017-08/24/2014.