personas que no pueden defenderse por sí mismas”.
La iglesia estaba llena.
Neighbors, her painting classmates, former coworkers from the hospital. Some older people I didn’t recognize stood in the front row wiping tears—patients she’d cared for years ago. Martha from the bank sat just behind them, clutching a tissue.
People brought small paintings and photographs she’d inspired them to make. They placed them around her photo like a ring of color and memory.
Le envié un mensaje a mis padres y a Paula.
“La abuela falleció. El funeral es