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Apesar das, inacreditáveis, melhorias que foste mostrando, ao longo das últimas 4 semanas, bem cá no fundo, eu sabia que a nossa despedida tinha sido a última.
Eu sabia que não estarias mais aí, quando eu regressasse...
A minha garganta está seca. A minha cabeça aturdida. Os meus sentidos, definitivamente, adormecidos.
Enquanto escrevo este pequeno tributo a ti, querida avózinha. Fecho os olhos e imagino todo o cenário que te rodeia, neste momento. E... O facto de não fazer parte dele... pela última vez, é angustiante.
7,387 km separam-me de ti, querida avózinha, e do teu corpo, agora frio e sem vida...
Uma vida, outrora, cheia de trabalho. Sete filhos. Sete netos.
Apesar das, inacreditáveis, melhorias que foste mostrando, ao longo das últimas 4 semanas, bem cá no fundo, eu sabia que a nossa despedida tinha sido a última.
Eu sabia que não estarias mais aí, quando eu regressasse...
A minha garganta está seca. A minha cabeça aturdida. Os meus sentidos, definitivamente, adormecidos.
Enquanto escrevo este pequeno tributo a ti, querida avózinha. Fecho os olhos e imagino todo o cenário que te rodeia, neste momento. E... O facto de não fazer parte dele... pela última vez, é angustiante.
7,387 km separam-me de ti, querida avózinha, e do teu corpo, agora frio e sem vida...
Uma vida, outrora, cheia de trabalho. Sete filhos. Sete netos.
Há quem diga que, o sete, é um número de sorte. Será avózinha?
Sempre te conheci com rugas, mas sem cabelos brancos.
Sempre me lembro de tomares medicamentos, para alguma coisa.
Sempre me lembro de tomares medicamentos, para alguma coisa.
Gostavas de comer de pé. Comer sentada, era para dias de festa.
Gostavas de fazer crochet - e um considerável número de peças de arte sairam das tuas, ávidas, mãos.
Querias ser invisível, não querias dar trabalho aos teus filhos. E assim foi, enquanto não tiveste outra opção...
Não eras uma pessoa de riso fácil, mas todos sabemos, lá em casa, o que sempre te arrancava uma boa gargalhada... :)
Eras a minha paragem obrigatória à saída da escola. De vez em quando, tinhas um pudim flan, (dos velhotes), à minha espera, naqueles pequenos copinhos, que mais ninguém tinha igual...
Obrigavas-me a ir ao terço, nas férias do verão.
Sempre que fazias lentilhas, guardavas um prato para mim (ninguém, até hoje, me conseguiu fazer lentilhas como as tuas! E sopas de ovos? As tuas serão, para sempre, as melhores!)
Também é verdade que tinhas "mau feitio". Mas facilmente qualquer pessoa percebia, que tinhas o melhor coração do mundo. E quanto a esse reconhecido "mau feitio, tão característico teu... é o que, curiosamente, mais saudades nos vai deixar...
Contigo aprendi que do pouco se consegue fazer muito. Que do velho, se pode voltar a fazer novo.
"Guarda o que não presta, e, terás o que precisas", lembro-me.
"É preciso aprender a fazer de tudo, minha filha" - dizias-me tu, infindáveis vezes, - "nunca se sabe, quando te vai dar jeito." - E esta, sem saberes, foi, simplesmente, a melhor lição de vida, que me deixaste...
Nunca foste uma pessoa, extraordinariamente doce, a vida, simplesmente, nunca to permitiu...
Encaraste os teus dias como se de uma batalha se tratasse. A força, sempre foi o teu melhor aliado.
Sobreviveste à fome. Sobreviveste ao frio. Sobreviveste, a longas horas, de árduo trabalho. No verão, ao "esturreiro" do sol, (como tu dizias), no inverno, debaixo das "moscas brancas", (como tu dizias, também).
Remendaste muita roupa. Secaste outra tanta, ao calor da lareira, para vestir no dia seguinte.
Grávida ou não, o dia começava, sempre, antes do sol nascer, e terminava, sempre, ao pôr do sol.
Sobreviveste à perda de 3 filhas, duas delas, antes dos seus três anos e meio de idade - no silêncio do teu olhar, soube que foste das únicas pessoas, que me compreendeu visceralmente).
Viste partir de casa, sempre com coragem, cada um dos teus filhos.
O teu ninho ficou vazio.
Não sei como lidavas com isso, à noite, deitada na tua almofada. Mas sei que rezavas. Sei que te confortavas com a esperança de que o Senhor olharia pelas tuas crias no teu lugar, nas suas aventuras e desventuras.
Não sei como lidavas com isso, à noite, deitada na tua almofada. Mas sei que rezavas. Sei que te confortavas com a esperança de que o Senhor olharia pelas tuas crias no teu lugar, nas suas aventuras e desventuras.
Nunca foste um livro aberto. Foste um livro que aprendi a desfolhar.
Senti, por ti, muitas coisas diferentes, ao longo dos anos. Das quais, hoje, ficam acima de tudo: A admiração. E a certeza de que somos muito mais uma da outra, do que aquilo que alguma de nós pode imaginar.
Estás inscrita em mim, no meu ADN, nas minhas memórias, nas memórias que vou querer perdurar, através da geração futura. Eu sou, sem ter consciência disso, o resultado de muitas das tuas vivências. Estás comigo hoje, como estiveste ontem, e estarás para todo o meu sempre.
Hoje descansas esse teu corpo cansado, massacrado, tão cheio de tudo aquilo que tinhas reservado para ti.
Uma vida cheia, uma vida, verdadeiramente, cheia.
Uma vida que nos deixa, agora, esta imensa saudade e vazio.
Uma vida que fecha, porém, o seu capítulo com sentido de missão cumprida.
Recebe, querida avózinha, à entrada desse jardim celestial, o maior, e o mais sentido abraço de gratidão, desta tua neta, que te ama daqui até à lua, e da lua até aqui.
E uma vénia.
Sim. Uma vénia!
Porque foste uma Rainha! Um autêntico farol, nas nossas vidas.
Porque foste uma Rainha! Um autêntico farol, nas nossas vidas.
Até sempre, querida avó.
Sofia
Despite the, unbelievable, improvements that you were showing, over the past four weeks, deep inside, I knew that our goodbye was to be the last.
I knew you wouldn't be there anymore for my return...
My throat is dry. My head dazed. My senses, definitely, numb...
As I write this little tribute to you, dear granny, I close my eyes and imagine all the scenery around you right now. And... The fact that I'm no part of it... this last time. Is consuming.
7.387 km separate me from you, dear Grannie, and from your body, now cold and lifeless ...
A life, once, full of hard work. Seven children. Seven grandchildren.
Some people say that seven is a lucky number. Is it Grannie?
I've always known you with wrinkles. But none gray hair.
I always remember you taking some kind of medication, for some kind of pain.
You've always liked to have your meals standing - sitting was for festivity days.
You loved crochet - and a great number of art pieces, have, your avid hands, done.
You'd like to be invisible. Didn't want to bother your children, and so it was, until you're left with no other option...
You weren't an easy laugh person, but we all know, at home, what would, always, make erupt a great laugh out of you... :)
Your house was my mandatory first stop, when getting back home after school. Occasionally, you'd have a flan pudding, waiting for me on those tinny cups, that no one else had the same...
You'd forced me to go to chaplet mass everyday of my summer holidays.
Whenever you'd cook lentils, you'd always have a spare dish for me (no one, to this day, managed to cook lentils for me like you did! The same for your delicious egg and bread soup. Yours, will be forever and ever, the best!)
It's also true that you had a "bad temper". But anyone could easily realize you owned the biggest heart in the whole wide world. And regarding to that, well known and characteristic "bad temper, funny it is, that's exactly what we'll miss the most about you.
From you, I learned that from less, one can do much. From old, we can make new, again.
"Keep the damaged, and you'll find what you need," I remember you saying.
"You should learn how to do a little of everything, my dear " - you told me countless times - "you never know when it will be of use" - And this, without knowing, has simply been the best life lesson, you left me...
You've never been an, extraordinarily, sweet person. Life, simply, never allowed you to...
You faced your days as if they're a battle field. Your strength has always been your best ally.
Survived hunger. Survived cold. Survived long hours of hard work.
Mend many clothes. Dried so many others, for next day wear, in the warmth of the fireplace.
Pregnant or not, your day always began before sunrise, and always ended at sunset.
Survived the loss of three daughters, two of them, before they were three and a half years - in the silence of your eyes, I knew you were one of the few people who understood me viscerally).
You've seen your ducklings leave home, always with courage.
Your nest was empty.
I don't know how you've dealt with that at night, when resting your head on your pillow. But I know that your sleep was always induced by lots of prayers. I know this ritual filled you up of hope, hope, that the Lord would look after your ducklings, on your absence.
You've never been an open book. You've been a book I learned to leaf through.
I felt for you many different things, over the years. Which today are above all: Admiration. And the certainty that we are much more of each other than what any of us can imagine.
You're inscribed on me, in my DNA, in my memories, the memories that I want to keep on through future generation. I am, without being aware of it, the result of many of your experiences. You are with me today, as you were yesterday, and will be for the rest of the time I shall live.
Today, you rest that tired, and massacred, body of yours, so full of everything you had reserved for you...
A full life, that leaves us with this immense longing and emptiness.
But a life that ceases its chapter, with a sense of accomplishment.
Receive, dear grannie, in that heavenly garden, the most tight hug of all, full of gratitude, from this granddaughter of yours, who loves you from here to the moon and back.
And a bow.
Yes. A bow!
Because you were a Queen! A true lighthouse in our lives.
Until we see each other again, dear grannie.
Sofia
Sofia
******************************
I knew you wouldn't be there anymore for my return...
My throat is dry. My head dazed. My senses, definitely, numb...
As I write this little tribute to you, dear granny, I close my eyes and imagine all the scenery around you right now. And... The fact that I'm no part of it... this last time. Is consuming.
7.387 km separate me from you, dear Grannie, and from your body, now cold and lifeless ...
A life, once, full of hard work. Seven children. Seven grandchildren.
Some people say that seven is a lucky number. Is it Grannie?
I've always known you with wrinkles. But none gray hair.
I always remember you taking some kind of medication, for some kind of pain.
You've always liked to have your meals standing - sitting was for festivity days.
You loved crochet - and a great number of art pieces, have, your avid hands, done.
You'd like to be invisible. Didn't want to bother your children, and so it was, until you're left with no other option...
You weren't an easy laugh person, but we all know, at home, what would, always, make erupt a great laugh out of you... :)
Your house was my mandatory first stop, when getting back home after school. Occasionally, you'd have a flan pudding, waiting for me on those tinny cups, that no one else had the same...
You'd forced me to go to chaplet mass everyday of my summer holidays.
Whenever you'd cook lentils, you'd always have a spare dish for me (no one, to this day, managed to cook lentils for me like you did! The same for your delicious egg and bread soup. Yours, will be forever and ever, the best!)
It's also true that you had a "bad temper". But anyone could easily realize you owned the biggest heart in the whole wide world. And regarding to that, well known and characteristic "bad temper, funny it is, that's exactly what we'll miss the most about you.
"Keep the damaged, and you'll find what you need," I remember you saying.
"You should learn how to do a little of everything, my dear " - you told me countless times - "you never know when it will be of use" - And this, without knowing, has simply been the best life lesson, you left me...
You've never been an, extraordinarily, sweet person. Life, simply, never allowed you to...
You faced your days as if they're a battle field. Your strength has always been your best ally.
Survived hunger. Survived cold. Survived long hours of hard work.
Mend many clothes. Dried so many others, for next day wear, in the warmth of the fireplace.
Pregnant or not, your day always began before sunrise, and always ended at sunset.
Survived the loss of three daughters, two of them, before they were three and a half years - in the silence of your eyes, I knew you were one of the few people who understood me viscerally).
You've seen your ducklings leave home, always with courage.
Your nest was empty.
I don't know how you've dealt with that at night, when resting your head on your pillow. But I know that your sleep was always induced by lots of prayers. I know this ritual filled you up of hope, hope, that the Lord would look after your ducklings, on your absence.
You've never been an open book. You've been a book I learned to leaf through.
I felt for you many different things, over the years. Which today are above all: Admiration. And the certainty that we are much more of each other than what any of us can imagine.
You're inscribed on me, in my DNA, in my memories, the memories that I want to keep on through future generation. I am, without being aware of it, the result of many of your experiences. You are with me today, as you were yesterday, and will be for the rest of the time I shall live.
Today, you rest that tired, and massacred, body of yours, so full of everything you had reserved for you...
A full life, that leaves us with this immense longing and emptiness.
But a life that ceases its chapter, with a sense of accomplishment.
Receive, dear grannie, in that heavenly garden, the most tight hug of all, full of gratitude, from this granddaughter of yours, who loves you from here to the moon and back.
And a bow.
Yes. A bow!
Because you were a Queen! A true lighthouse in our lives.
Until we see each other again, dear grannie.
Sofia
