In memory of my grandmother

“To the weakness “No thanks are given to him,” my friend used to say. grandmotherwhen during the vacation of summer I stayed in bed past eight in the morning. “Get up, they’re going to say we have a dead person in the house,” she insisted with a small voice that was somewhere between annoying, affectionate and imperative, and she drew the curtains with the sole intention of making me get up to help you in the kitchen and in others tasks which he was busy making. (He certainly hadn’t read Paul Lafargue’s The Right to be Lazy.) Many years have passed since then. I don’t know why that memory It takes me by storm. I guess because I don’t feel like doing anything. My head feels like a huge stone. I can’t think fluently what I’m writing now. The surprising thing is that in these conditions I remember the famous phrases from my grandmother, who was called María and was short and thin as if she had not finished growing. Of little girl had been day laborer. Maybe that had something to do with his height and thinness. I don’t know. It doesn’t matter whether he knows it or not. He died more than two decades agoI don’t remember the exact date of his death. I still regret not having been there to say goodbye and the I loved her so much. I was living in another city or another country. My mother told me that she died without saying anything and when they placed her in her coffin she looked so tiny and helpless that they made you want to lie down next to her. So much so that someone suggested putting a suitcase there with her clothes and personal items, as if instead of leaving forever, she was going on a trip. The truth is that she never ends up leaving and maintains her presence in me. I write in her name. She comforts me when I remember her. The funny thing is that I don’t have a single photograph of him. If someone asks me for a single proof of her existence, I will show them some napkins and a tablecloth embroidered by her hands. Anyway. I think this is not what she should have written in this space. Excuse me for doing so. Sometimes—very rarely—my emotions tend to win over my intellect.

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