Forever
Friends

Ramona Saenz
+
Gracie
Gonzalez

Now

December 2023. Ramona’s daughter, Monica, 57, spontaneously drives Ramona to see Gracie. It’s been years. Ramona, 86, doesn’t have her walker. She can’t make it to Gracie’s front door. So Gracie, 76, comes slowly out to the car. Two faces light up in unison.

Then

Ramona and Gracie, Gracie and Ramona. Best friends. They call each other every day. Their kids – two each – play together. Their husbands go out for coffee. Family vacations on South Padre Island include adjoining hotel rooms, one shared kitchenette. Every Sunday after mass, Ramona swings by Gracie’s house for breakfast. Best friends.

Now

One on the sidewalk, one in a car’s passenger seat. “How are you?” they ask each other. “I’m good,” Ramona says. Not many words, but more than Ramona speaks on many days. It’s hard to get out these days, comments Gracie. She names one of her grandchildren, playing nearby. A concise rendering of what’s ahead, what’s behind, and a blend of the two.

Then

Ramona hosts regular weekend barbecues. Ramona is the cook, celebrated for her outstanding potato salad, spicy pico de gallo. Gracie does the dicing – tomatoes, celery, pickles. For their four children, the women organize lotería tournaments – a game similar to bingo. In summer, they go together to the pool to watch them swim.

Now

Ramona and Gracie. Two women in the throes of forgetfulness. Most days, Ramona doesn’t recognize or remember her own daughters. Ramona begins showing early signs of Alzheimer’s sometime after her husband passes in May 2017. Now she sometimes doesn’t remember what a shower is. Can’t remember if she has eaten. Gracie’s memory lapses began more recently.

Then

Ramona works for 45 years as a clerk for Firestone. Gracie is a school accountant. Both run a tight ship in their Rio Grande City households. Bills are paid; food is always in the refrigerator. Gracie gets off work an hour earlier than Ramona, so she often carries Ramona’s daughters home.

She was so happy once we were here… I don’t think I’ve ever seen her so happy.”

Now

The conversation winds down. Ramona, still in the car’s passenger seat, reaches out a hand to squeeze goodbye. But Gracie wants more than a handshake. This is her best friend. Her daughter Lamar helps open the car door. Gracie leans in for a hug.

Three generations and a king-sized San Marcos blanket that Ramona draped over her daughter and two-day-old granddaughter on Dec. 20, 1989, to protect her family from a rare Rio Grande City deep freeze.