Henri Matisse, Dance I, 1909
A replica of this painting used to be hanged on the room where I used to sleep in my grandmother’s house. I used to look at it while listening to her stories, being her the greatest storyteller I ever met. Everyday she seemed to remember a little bit more about her childhood. In the morning, she would wake me up with the smell of cookies and freshly brewed coffee, while I would listen grandpa taking a shower, simultaneously listening to the radio. Then it would be time for me to leave. And I left. 10, 12, 15 years have passed. Grandpa has been gone for 4 or so, and grandma is missing, her soul is missing. She is at the moment on a coma. Never to wake up. On the last couple of months we made her cookies, brewed her coffee, gave her baths. She knew she was slowly dying, no mistake on that. The doctors said in August that she would last no longer than 2 months. September, October, November, December, all those months went by. She kept smiling, making jokes, mocking me and my 2 sisters, saying that I should take more care of myself.
The last thing she told my big sister was "well honey, don’t forget about life".I saw her 15 days ago. She asked for me everyday since that. Why didn’t I come to visit them more often, and how was I. What did I cook in Lisbon, how was my hair.
I returned home to visit a body that held the remainings of her spirit. My sisters refuse to go to the hospital. I went. Did not wept. There is now a gigantic ball of feelings about to burst, while I fight the urge for it to explode, being that I am not comfortable to do it in front of anybody. I wont. We will just keep smiling grandma. I know I will. And will Remember you as the most humble, down to earth human being I’ve met so far.
We will not forget about life. I just hope I could tell you that.