" I don't recognize her. This is not the woman I knew so round and made-up with her hair always a wavy jet black! I stay back until she opens her arms to me - this strange and familiar woman - her voice hoarse, " ¡Ay mi'jita!" Instinctively, I run into her arms, still holding back my insides. " Don't cry. Don't cry" , I remember. " Whatever you do, no llores." But my tía had not warned me about the smell, the unmistakable smell of the woman, mi mamá, el olor de aceite y jabón and comfort and home. " Mi mamá." And when I catch the smell I am lost in tears, deep long tears that come when you have held your breath for centuries. "