Grandmother

Gitanjali

by Gitanjali

Story

“Oh, I think of you, every day!”

This is grandmothers favourite phrase. She says it whenever one of us calls her, what we usually do because we all live far apart. But every year for Chistmas, friends and family unite and come together at grandmothers little house on top of the hill. My uncle built the house for my grandmother; I call her my grandmother but in fact she is my mother’s grandmother, my great-grandmother. Her head turned grey over the decades with some white hair glittering like bright stars in the night. Her eyes, dark and full of life, greet the world every morning with a smile that can not hide the wrinkles but make them soft and friendly. I stroke my grandmother’s arms and her hands. And she smiles and says it’s a long way to get old.

Orchids and Mamoncillos cover the hill in wonderful, lush green. The little house, yellow as a lemon, cuddles, almost shy, in between. I just open the door a crack, look in and smile, and she smiles back to me, her appearance happy and content with life.

Every day she combs her long, soft hair, rolls it in the neck and puts it to a bun. Her curious eyes keep wandering to the open door, as if she were expecting someone to come and usually, she is. When the visitor finally arrives, her eyes light up, a smile appears on her lips and she always has some friendly words to say for a welcome.

Come on, you young one, she would say, I am already old and I do not know for how long I will still be around, and she would say it half jokingly and half sincere. She is approaching 97 years and I admire her alert and spirited mind. She hat thirteen children, and she remembers all their birthdays, and the names and birthdays of all her nieces and nephews, grandchildren and great-grandchildren; not even I am able to recall them all. Life gave her the opportunity to learn, to know and to love and she always has a story to tell to the young ones. She never had the opportunity to go to school – those were different times, she keeps saying, but she taught herself to read and she has always loved reading, never enjoyed anything more than a good book on a quiet evening, and she is still proud of her good eyesight; even now she never tires of reading. Her favourite book being “Don Quixote”, the tale of the gentle knight and his servant Sancho Panza. The book, worn by the year and by hundreds of times of being read, still rests by her bedside.

I admit I don´t think of her every day, but I think of her now, as I prepare to get ready for the journey, bcause it is Christmas time, and all the family will unite and come together at grandmothers little house on top of the hill.

© Gitanjali 2021-01-02

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