I dream of you often, but I have no way to tell you. Now I’m the same age I remember you to be.
The untimely bourne grand daughter… you could have hated me, insted you taught me to love and how to be
selfless, to hurry home where it’s nice. It’s like I’ve watched from the side as
you put me to sleep and nit me a woolen vest. Some evenings you used to peel apples with grandpa
and, to this day, I can’t paint a love more human and real- with no fake promisses.
Granny used to be a senior nurse at the tuberculous dispensary, the illnes was a deadly whip for
that time. The dieing however wanted exactly my granny to be with them and see them off, as they leave
for the unavoidable beyond. I know this from the colleagues, who my granny outlived. It was her carrier, but she
descicively retired at the age of 50, to raise me. There was no other way to solve the familly equasion.
With her kindness, granny used to calm her strong man down. Without a doubt I’ve immagined her as a heroine, priestess or healer
in biblical times, as it happened during the XXth century. In the XXIst she’s still a part of me.
When I fall asleep, I see her as God’s assistent- the white-bearded man looks a little too old to offer
my granny a different assignement, but this one is perfect for her. This way i believe in something i know,
something mine- I remember well her voice and her heavenly breath.