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Today is my grandmothers birthday, a woman I loved and admired. This is my way to tell her 'I love you".
I will always remember Grandmother, I mean my father’s mother. A good looking old lady with a beautiful wrinkled wise face. Yes, I know it’s a simplistic image I’m giving of her. But the heart needs no complicated language when describing the one we love. I suppose you agree.
Every Sunday morning Grandmother attended the 6.00 am mass at the huge Cathedral of La Virgen del Carmen. As usual, sitted at the third row, she attentively listened to the morning preachment, full of wisdom and accurate advices. This special atmosphere of serenity gave her the strenght to stand getting old and widowhood.
At 65, Grandmother lost her husband and since his death she felt alone. No matter what we did she had this strange feeling of loneliness day after day. She also felt sad when learning the death of close friends. “I have no one to talk about the things I’ve known and lived”, she used to say. But I’m sure that, every Sunday morning, grandmother found in the Holy words an echo to her desperate call. In this intimate atmosphere she shared the solace of so many widows and widowers gathered round the altar. Here she could talk to “people of her age”.
It is evident that grandmother’s worst enemy was loneliness and the lack of understanding she experienced in this constantly changing modern world. At that time grandma was 73 and considered late sixties and early seventies as years of absolut sacrilege. According to her, men’s frenetic desire of interplanetary traveling was against God’s will. She could accept several inventions, like telephone or electricity. But flying on a plane and, worst, traveling to the outerspace...that she couldn’t admit. Humanity was lacking faith! Evolution was changing the world too fast and she couldn’t follow. It was obvious.
Despite all this, grandma led a normal life. Her tidy appartment was big enough to hold in all her sewing, knitting, crochetting and lacing. She learnt it from her mother, who learnt it from her mother and so on. It was an old family tradition. She could “create” almost everything, from a simple apron to a complex wedding dress. She loved to decorate fabric hankerchiefs with delicate laces. I have preciously kept the last three hankerchiefs she gave me when I “became a woman”.
Grandmother enjoyed offering her sewing skills to the benefit of the community. With some widow friends they contributed to widen the Virgin Mary’s wardrobe. Every year they gathered together and decided the color, the type of fabric and the style of the new dress they will tenderly make for the Mother of all. Don’t forget Grandmother was a faithful believer.
Every Sunday the whole family came to visit Grandmother. That day she couldn’t wish for anything more ! Her tidy appartment sparkled and flowers could be seen in every corner. There was an appetizing smell coming from the kitchen. For sure it was one of those typical dishes, taking hours to cook, that Grandmother patiently prepared for us.
She was happy surrounded by all her granchildren who wanted to hug and kiss her. We loved her. She represented the heart of the family. Kind of old matriarch having the authority to muster the clan. There she was grinning from ear to ear not aware of her supreme authority upon us.
Past the euphoria of the visit, Grandmother felt lonely again. Suddenly her appartment seemed too big, she had no one to hug, to cherish, to spoil. No one to tell stories about the good old days when she and her cousin wandered round the island where she lived seeking for adventure. Grandma used to say : “At that time, there was no danger for children out there”.
Her childhood stories fascinated me. At her time, people dressed in a different way, etiquette and behaviors were different, women were not liberated, few people could afford having a car or going on holidays. There were few doctors and pharmacies didn’t exist, but sort of herbalist preparing medicines upon demand. Good old days, time gone by !
Grandmother had no one to share her souvenirs. No one to laugh about their adventures and mischiefs. No one to remember the old cinema standing at Fourth Street or the Boyer family who lost a daughter in a tragic accident. No one, no one. Grandma was alone with her souvenirs.
“It’s hard to grow old. Not because of age but because of loneliness”. People she once knew or met were gone. Places she went to didn’t exist anymore. The road she used to walk a thousand time didn’t have the same “ambiance”. The city has lost the smell of blooming flowers or “hot spicy tamales” ready to sell. No more children freely playing in the park, climbing trees, looking for birds and insects to tame. There’s no real life in the streets only traffic jams, crazy drivers, people running to catch a taxi. Life’s not the same anymore !
“I want to die before I’m a burden to you”, she started repeating after her 87th birthday. “Don’t be silly, Mom, you’ll live till you’re 100 and still do things by yourself”, answered my father back. Yes, Grandmother was healthy and strong. She could cook, do the household, go walking by herself to Church, keep sewing for the community. But for Grandmother she was a burden. Someone who was unable to communicate with others. Having no one to share past events or souvenirs with. She thought she annoyed everyone.
Of course, she got grandchildren, specially me, who could listen for hours to her stories. I remember asking her to repeat again and again her adventures on Taboga, in Panama, when her father was working as school teacher in the only elementary school of the island. Her stories transported me to a different world that I could visit through my grandmother’s words. It was fantastic !
In 1986 she passed away without suffering. Our hearts were full of grief and the family was in mourning. Now she’s “sleeping forever in the house of God beside her mother and father”, wisely added our aunt.
It took me time to accept her death. I constantly refused to say “she was”. For me she was still alife. My mourning lasted several years.
Maybe two years after her death, I dreamt about Grandmother. I can still recall my dream. I wished to visit her tidy appartement again, where fresh lilies from her garden gave the air that sweet parfume. Everything was in order, everything in its place. Photos, rocking chair, sewing machine, needles and her old eyeglasses. I walked through every room expecting to see her coming to me with a big grin from ear to ear. But Grandmother wasn’t there. In my dream I felt her absence. It was painful but I finally had to admit her death. “She has gone”, I said and I left.
“It’s hard to grow old. Not because of age but because of loneliness”. Yes, Grandmother, I understand your words. Deep in my soul I feel the emptiness of your unexpected departure. I feel your loneliness becoming my own. Who will understand what we shared together, you and me ? What we knew and lived together. Our souvenirs. My childhood souvenirs.
I’m not old, Grandmother, but I know that loneliness also means loosing the one we love.
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