As Richard Puz has stated “Death leaves a heartache no one can heal, love leaves a memory no one can steal.”

Death is something children are not able to comprehend. It will never be like The Lion King in which Mufasa, the antagonist, dies. The bad guys are not the only ones dying. I had the opportunity to meet “Cat Lady”, my next door neighbor, when I was six, and then out of the blue she was gone. In third grade, a hectic year for any eight year old; my innocent mind had changed. What seemed like rainbow land and unicorns turned into the gloomy and true reality. During this time span I learned not to take materialistic objects and people for granted.

After my six years of life I was no different to any other average girl in first grade. I was a quite loquacious individual. Despite my colorful mouth, school did not seem like a piece of cake. If it was, the scrumptious brown, black, and pieces of wood and plaster would have been in the depths of the bubbly green sea, apparently called a stomach. My parents, both Mexicans, did not understand the torture I would have to endure – homework. English is my second language and my parents were not able to speak or read it. One day, “Cat Lady”, the neighbor, came to my rescue like the heroin and fallen angel she was. She became my teacher, mentor, and friend in a short period of time.   Except the time when I first met her, she seemed like a witch: old, grey hair, pallid skin, slippers, long sleeping robe, a belly, four cats and all. I was at her doorstep looking at her tall figure she is going to try to put me in the oven like Hansel and Gretel; I am too young to die.

During my first day of tutoring, my tongue was tied, suddenly my mouth weighed more than my body mass. For the first time I was taciturn. After the encounter at the entrance, “Cat Lady”, was the epithet I had secretly given her after meeting her four cats. Later on I came to the discovery that “Cat Lady” was not her real identity. “Cat Lady”, Marie, started divulging pieces of her life story.

“Wendy, right?”

I simply nodded. If I do not speak, perhaps, she will forget about her malicious plan.

“I am not a witch dear, I don’t bite.”

Oh it’s worse than what I anticipated. She is not only a witch, she also possesses a power. She can read minds. What if she is inside my brain at this very second?

Hours later I was on Marie’s bed listening attentively to the continuation of her life story. Her story was so engaging the time flew by; the sun, the yellow fireball, had been replaced by the moon, a glistening white and grey jewel in the sky. Now I knew, she was not a witch, although she was “Cat Lady”, she was not a mind reader, but instead was a philanthropic retired activist. My mind was flooded with information–her birthday, favorite color, her two divorces, her three children, her trips, her morals, among other details. Marie won me over; she had given me a bag of fresh cookies (my sole weakness) and assistance with my homework in a few hours.

Time had progressed; days soon after the first tutoring session, I continued to visit “Cat Lady”. I gained more knowledge about her. Due to her disability, hefty body, she retired after working as a paralegal. She believed in the voice of the unheard; she had organized a rent strike, the first, in Florida against unethical landlords, and overall fought for justice and equality. She also registered African American voters in the South. In spite of the numerous nice deeds she had done, Marie was somewhat lonely in the eyes of my six year old body. Her daughter, Maggie, was not a loving person. Marie, without me, was otherwise alone until late ten o’clock daily at the time Maggie would decide to arrive. Marie and I became best friends; in contrast to water and oil, we were a compatible match.

One tutoring session, Marie was on her bed, a cozy adjustable piece of art, when I asked her if she could take me to my favorite place. After my whining fit, which lasted five minutes, Marie at last agreed to take us on a trip to my beloved place, the corner store. My parents both gave approval to my adventure with Maria, Marie in Spanish. Because of her disability, Marie traveled in an electronic wheelchair. The tiring and long lasting journey ended ten yards from the starting point, an admirable distance covered for a developing six year old, without a doubt. Upon arriving all I could hear were voices, “Wendy you know we need you, we are trapped forever without your heroism. Buy us. Buy us. Buy us.” The M&M cookies were chanting for me. I became their savior so I gave them their deserved farewell held in the depth of my stomach.

Minutes turned into hours, days, weeks, months, and lastly a year had passed since the first moment I met “Cat Lady”. I became Marie’s diminutive helper by cleaning pieces of trash in her bedroom with the “picker upper”, a handheld device that facilitated cleaning trash. Some days I would be paid in cash, a gold mine at the time, and if I was lucky I would receive Altoids candy, Marie’s favorite mint supply.

Marie would always be genuine and compassionate, but once came a time when I did not stop my mouth and challenged the truth. We were in the center of the dim-lighted purple box or room with minty incense when I crossed the border between right and wrong. Marie was attempting to put in plain words why my math answer was incorrect. Being the stubborn seven year old girl I was, I refused to change my answer. Noticing my unusual behavior, Marie called the officers –my parents. After, never did I contradict the wise woman next door.

I had never paid much attention to Marie’s health state. She never showed evidence of an illness. Her daughter would never be home and Marie needed a caring person to look out for her. My family and I would bring in soup when Marie started coughing out the life she had within her. The person that became part of my family and granted the most beautiful moments of my childhood was suffering. Marie was constantly optimistic and she continued giving me tutoring sessions despite her sickness.

During the week Marie was yet sick, a strange man came to visit. Marie was teaching me more about the topic I was learning in my third grade class. I was just scrutinizing the old man as tall as a giraffe in the dark suit with a case, he must be a spy I have seen mysterious guys like him in movies before. I wonder what he wants. Then Marie interrupted my train of thought, “Wendy would you mind leaving early today?”

Definitely not, what if this guy is evil. His eyes are darker than the starless night. I nodded my head.

The intriguing man in the dark suit did not come out of the house until what felt like ten hours later. I asked Marie about him the next day, but her answer was blank, no clue whatsoever.

A week later there was no trace of the secretive man, so I forgot about him like any other child would. Days after, Marie’s state was less than acceptable. My mind did not fully understand what Marie was undergoing, but I was sure it was not enjoyable. While I was my carefree self, Marie was coughing louder than the radio from the lady across the street. Marie would soon be taken to the hospital if her coughing continued.

Marie was nearly recovered from the sickness she had and she was starting to come back as “Cat Lady” the spirited person from the beginning. My mentor was back. The woman who taught me that there was no such thing as racial hierarchy and inequality reappeared under the surface of what was left from the illness.

The days passed by and life was as usual– interesting without any difference. That was a fact until Marie was transferred to the nearest hospital. Evidently the illness Marie had did not vanish like a common cold. The following day would I come across the undeniable truth.

I was walking home with my mom from school on a sunny day when she told me she had news for me. I was hoping she would tell me that Marie was back, but it did not go as I wished. My mom simply told me that Marie had gone on a trip she would never come back from and she would forever be in a happy place. As soon as I arrived I moved my body to the one place that I felt comfortable, the bathroom. I believed that the velvety towels from the shelves would somehow retrieve the tears from my eyes. I could not accept that Marie was gone forever; I came to my mom and asked her, “Ma if characters from movies come back to life why is it that Marie cannot come back as well?” My mom replied, “Ramona (my nickname) even if we tried, Marie would not be able to come back; she is needed where she is”. “Who will tutor me now, who will listen to me when you don’t understand, who will tell me stories, answer?” My mom stayed silent.

We attended the funeral where Marie’s wishes would come true. The mysterious man in the dark suit was not a spy. He recorded all the plans Marie had in mind if she was to leave the Earth. Marie died of pneumonia, an infection of the lungs caused by bacteria, when she was seventy years old. She left behind all the souls she guided and taught.

During February 2009, the light from Marie’s eyes went dark.  I held grief within me for a long time that would never completely disappear. Marie did not witness my greatest accomplishments. She was not present when I won the spelling bee in fourth and fifth grade. She was not present when I culminated from elementary school. She was not present when I was living the most dramatic years of my life in middle school. She was not there when I became Salutatorian in eighth grade. I was not given these opportunities. I should have showed my affection and gratitude towards her when I was given the chance. Although she is not physically here, Marie will be in my heart and thoughts forever. 

If I had the opportunity, my naïve self would have told Marie “Marie this is not a farewell, but a see you soon.” Now I see my parents, family, and friends in a different light. I should not believe that they will stay in my life until the end. You can never predict what the future has in mind.