Thursday, March 13, 2014

Adeus avó.

I don’t quite remember how I got there. I know I drove, but can’t remember seeing cars or people.
And now I was facing this huge yellowish closed door. Behind it was everything and nothing. I couldn’t move. I just started to cry, at the beginning just tears rolling on my cheeks but quickly I was sobbing profusely until my knees couldn’t hold me anymore and I had to kneel. A nurse then came to see me: you were ready for me to see you but you were no longer there. And she opened the door for me to step in and gave me her hand shifting to me just the bit of strength I needed to stand up; and I walked in.
The nurse had opened the bag and I could see you looked at peace. I caressed your face and your hair. You were still warm. Suddenly, I was at peace too.
I said goodbye and went away. They all needed help, they all needed me. When I was walking away, nurses and people I had never met before, came to me, held my hand and told me how sorry they were for me… for you… But I barely could hear them. I barely could notice them. Something else was happening, like an ongoing connection I can’t explain, but it’s like I wasn’t there anymore either. It felt like you passed your strength onto me and most importantly, your mission: bringing us all together and it’s like silently, I promised to you I would.
“Avó, I promise I am trying; you know it’s not an easy task, but I’ll keep trying.
Adeus avó.”

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