When I finished college, the official unemployment rate in Spain was 24%. That didn’t include people who’d gotten any kind of degree in the last two years (in a country where people’s reaction when out of a job is to “study some more”, that’s pretty amazing math). So, like many people my age, I moved out - in my case, to graduate school in the US.
Abuelita, who’d moved into an old folks’ home a few months before (and boy were her children surprised when she announced it, and said that “no, there is no waiting list: what I’m telling you is that I signed up months ago and I can move in already”), told me “I don’t know whether I’ll see you again”. I said “yes you will, I’m coming back for Christmas and we’ll see each other again then.”
We met on January 4th as usual: it’s a day when restaurants have openings, my aunt’s birthday and the anniversary of Abuelito’s death. Abuelita constantly confused Littlebro and another grandson (mind you: similar looks, born 3 months apart); there were times when I could tell she’d gotten kind of lost but, since she knew the basics, was not about to go and ask “excuse me, exactly which relative are you?” That time I knew we weren’t going to meet again, and I was right. One morning, she woke up, got dressed, felt dizzy, lied back down. They found her dressed to the nines, on top of her already-made bed (she always made it; the staff would remake it and she’d remake it again, because “they always place the blanket too high!”).
I still miss her sometimes (she was not patient, but also never patronizing; she could be rash, but also fast to change her mind when you pointed out the error), but man, when I go, I wouldn’t mind going like she did.
You know like I did that your Grandma doesn’t have much time left. I’m glad she’s someone you’ve enjoyed knowing, hope her passing is peaceful, and if some relative decides to stop talking with everybody else over a pair of earrings, may it be someone that people already knew was “a bit undercooked inna head…”
