Sofia Ramirez

Sofia and I were neighbors before we were friends, and friends before we were family — which is what we became, eventually. She had this way of making you feel completely at ease. You could show up at her door upset about something small and leave two hours later having eaten well and laughed more than you expected. I don't know how she did it. I don't think she even knew she was doing it. She loved her family with everything she had. You could see it in the way she talked about Daniel, about Bella, about Mateo — her whole face changed. She was so proud of them. So full. I'm going to miss her every day for the rest of my life. But mostly I'm going to be grateful — for fifteen years of her friendship, for every dinner at her table, for every honest conversation in her garden. Descansa, amiga. Ya hiciste suficiente.

My mom used to put notes in my lunchbox. Even in middle school, when I told her it was embarrassing. I didn't mean it. I kept every single one of them. She always knew what I needed before I did. When I was scared about something, she'd sit with me and not try to fix it — just sit there until it felt smaller. I thought everyone's mom did that. I know now that's not true. Mama, I'm going to take care of Papi and Mateo. I'm going to learn to make your arroz con leche, even though mine won't taste the same. I'm going to plant marigolds every year. I love you more than I can say. Thank you for the notes.

Sofia was the center of everything. Not because she demanded it — she never demanded anything — but because that's just what she was. The person who remembered everyone's favorite meal. Who noticed when you were quiet. Who made every person who walked through our door feel like they'd been expected. I used to come home from work and the house would be loud and a little chaotic and somehow perfect. I didn't appreciate it enough. I think I always knew it, but I didn't say it often enough. I'm saying it now. Isabella has her stubbornness — the beautiful kind that doesn't back down from what matters. Mateo has her laugh. I see her everywhere, every single day, and it breaks my heart and holds it together at the same time. The freezer is still full of food she made us. I can't bring myself to cook anything else. Te amo, Sofia. Siempre.