The empty chair


One of the most difficult things about being far from home is the certainty things will not be the same when you come back. 

My great-grandma just passed away. I know it is the natural order in life, and she was 97, but I can't stop thinking about the empty chair I will find when I go back, because she will not be there. 

I think I was perhaps the luckiest great-grandkid, because I could spend so much time with her. I'm old enough to remember the times when she was very healthy, and lucid and independent. She used to read my comic books. We would watch TV together at night. I could hear the sewing machine in the back room when she and my mom decided to repair some piece of cloth. 

There are also some things I don't quite remember, but I've been told. I used to sleep laying in her belly as a baby. She was the one who gave me the beautiful metal swing for my one year old birthday, in which I played so many times. 

Her house was where I spent my childhood at, and I could not possibly express in words my gratitude for that wonderful place. It was because of her that I had space to run, and mud to get my hands dirty, and I was able to have two dogs and two rabbits and a bird and a duck. It was because of her that I had roses, and strawberry, and I could see plants grow and ladybugs, it was because of her I had a wall to climb, and when I was on top I felt like the Queen of the World.

Off course it was not only good times, but the good times are the ones I chose to remember. Thank you, Bisa, the sweetest word of all times, that meant your calm smile and your white hair and your fragile skin. I know it was not easy for you these last years - you that had always been an independent, progressive woman - with all that medicines and the lack of strength in your body, and when you could not even read anymore; I know you loved to read, Bisa...

It broke my heart to see you at that chair. It broke my heart to see that your eyes didn't shine anymore. And even though it will be hard to see that chair empty, I guess it happened for the best. You don't have to take medicines anymore. Now you can eat whatever you want. And it makes me happy to think that, somewhere, you are healthy and independent again.

Thanks for being part of my life and of my history. I'm proud to be your great-granddaughter, and I hope I can make you proud of me as well.

Goodbye, Bisa.

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