We are losing the memory of the world and why is it that no one has noticed or cares? This disease is robbing us of who to ask for advice, it steals from us those who have learned how to live in the eternal flow of history and time, those who saw things that we did not see, who lived what we have not lived. It is taking away from us the wisdom, the stories, the tender love of our grandparents. I, for one, don't know what would have done without the love of my grandma, who played with me when my mother couldn't, who sewed for me all those Wonder Woman outfits, who made me fall in love with all the stories she told, of those times,of yesterdays, when life was more simple and . I think my love for stories was born ... in the stories of all her adventures that now only exist in my memory. I remember how my legs dangled over the worn kitchen chair, with metal legs and brown plastic covering, every morning when we sat down for a cup of coffee and some sweet bread and there she talked to me about everything. And as I grew older, the space between my legs and the floor grew less but those magical times never changed. From her I learned all the lullabies that I once sang to my daughters and the stories of Tío Coyote and Tío Conejo that made me laugh so much and that although I asked her to tell them to me a thousand times, she, with her immense patience never had the heart to deny. I still remember her tender wisdom imparted between hugs and spankings. I remember countless tears wiped away and a lot of scraped knees, dabbed with hydrogen peroxide. From her I learned the legends of my country and the origins of my family. Thanks to her stories I still have that family tree that tells the story of my family, of names that no one remembers anymore and that would have been lost in oblivion if not for their wisdom. He told me about my mother's adventures and all her mischief .... poor mom ... I don't think she was very happy that her mother told me about all her shenanigans. I remember those afternoons sitting at the kitchen table peeling potatoes and putting them in that pink plastic bowl that I liked so much. Those smells from my grandmother's kitchen were forever etched in my soul. She taught me that cooking is another way to show love. I remember her torrejas at Easter and her pork hash at Christmas and although I learned how to prepare them they never taste the same as hers. And it's not that my grandmother was perfect ... she had her character and was sometimes difficult.She suffered a lot in his life and only as an adult did I realize how much but what i remember the most and the only constant in my life was her immense love for me and later for my daughters, whom she helped raise because I had to go to work to earn a living and I had no one to leave them with. She tended to my C Section wounds and taught me how to bathe my babies, how to change their diapers, and all those home remedies for when they got sick. I remember her waking up at five in the morning to help me comb my daughters hair and get them ready for school because I never learned how to tame their hair! There are so many memories. It is a life full of love and I could stay here and write you a whole book about how wonderful it was to be her granddaughter. Yes, I was privileged and I know it very well. And now that she's gone, I miss her so much! And although Alzheimer's stole her from me before her death came, I feel grateful and I feel immense pain knowing that right now, thousands could be losing someone as wonderful as my grandmother was.
