She does not know her exact age. She grieves over the choices of all 9 of her children. Most of all, she grieves the loss of her youngest at age 23. She cannot read or write, but her mind runs circles around mine as we sit side-by-side on the rough wood. Coronada Felman... Cumi Joy's grandmother.
Her youngest daughter, Cumi Joy's mommy, died too young... an enlarged heart complicated by pregnancy, c-section delivery of a premature baby and valiant attempts at nursing. The doctors did not have a clue what to do and by the time she was transported to a larger city, it was too late.
Coronada Felman grieved for her daughter in a traditional Miskito fashion - with wailing and screams. She herself fractured a hip around the time of Cumi Joy's birth and it did not heal properly. She shuffles down these dusty streets after a boat ride from her village across the lagoon.
She grabs Cumi Joy, sniffs her from head to toe and begins to cry the cry of a woman in agony. I cry. Cumi Joy seems oblivious. Coronada wails in Miskito.
Moments of pain interspersed with beauty as she sees her youngest granddaughter for the first time in months.