I’m honoring my abuela, a domestic worker who, for over a decade, worked in private homes, including that of a governor. In 1948, when she was 24 years old she faced an explosion in her employer’s kitchen that resulted in the gradual loss of her eyesight. As her sight diminished, my mother and her sisters took care of her. For an entire generation, my mother and aunts struggled to navigate the fractured system desperately trying to care for my abuela with no support outside of family or access to trained quality care. Although my abuela died before I was born—statistical odds stacked against us— I knew her. Her spirit lives in every story my mother tells me, the lessons we have learned, and the actions of my family. She is the core of who the women in my family are, how we love and how we care.