Yesterday, my grandpa, my mom’s dad, has died.
His wife, my mom’s mom, has died a long time ago already.
He didn’t know about her wife’s death when he passed.
Actually, he constantly asked about her.
He didn’t know he was old, that he had lived a full, long life, he didn’t know anything anymore.
Maybe, he didn’t even know he existed.
The Alzheimer’s disease breaks in like a thief. He bursts in your brain and starts destroying everything he can find. No compassion, no remorse. He devours every memory you got. He leaves only crumbs to you —
The home address you had when you were younger.
An old song.
A bunch of names.
A childhood memory.
Yesterday, my grandpa died. My mom told me. And, as soon as she did, the sun came out in the sky, and a strong wind started rumbling among the trees, the windows.
And you know what I like to believe?
That that wind, so strong, was my grandpa.
Angry, free, happy.
Be angry, grandpa! Be free!
May the wind blow even stronger, tear off all the rooftops!
They took your memories, they took your time!
Be the wind who gently ruffles the hair of the people who loved you. Please caress the face of mom, who’s shattered into pieces.
Blow on these flowers, and on the little town you and I grew up in.
I’ll never forget you.
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