I happily remember the times when I arrived at your house and, quickly, you came to welcome me at the door.

I remember that my eyes met your eyes and you taught me how to use them to smile too.

I remember the tenderness of that silent look, able to speak to my heart.

I remember your lap, your hug, your soft hands that caressed my hair.

I remember your house: so festive, so cozy, so vernal and the kisses with which you used to embrace me into your soul.

I remember the pride you had when introducing me to your neighbors and friends: This is my little grandson, you used to say, pulling me right after it to a kiss and a caress.

When young, I remember your wise and appropriate advices, that were capable to erode my Spirit and reveal me to you, in all my weakness.

The years passed. I saw the snow of time cover your hair which were so dark once.

On the corner of your eyes the marks of experience appeared.

 Your hands, those vigorous hands which agile fingers prepared the dough for the bread and cookies, which I liked so much, now became brittle and rough.

Your legs, which were strong and decided before and that accompanied me in walks and children's jokes many times, are now slow and have to make an effort to carry your delicate body.

*   *   *

I am already an adult, grandma.

Today,  you do not come quickly in my direction anymore, but, although with great difficulty, you make sure to welcome me at the door.

My eyes still meet yours and you still use them to smile at me, with some effort, because of your cataract.

 You do not carry me in your arms anymore, but in your smile I have the real safe haven to feel embraced in the sorrows of the world.

Your fragile hands rest in my hair, although now you need me to place my head really close to you, so you won't get so tired when extending your arms.

Your house, worn by the action of time, continues to bring spring to my Spirit.

And, with a smile illuminating your face, when I come close, you lovingly look to your nurse and say: This is my little grandson, even though she knows me for a long time.

Your memory is no longer the same, however, you still have the right words, at the right time, making my soul remains as an open book to you.

*   *   *

Today you are gone, grandma. You left my heart full of nostalgia and my soul overflowing of memories.

However, the tears that run on my face are not of sadness. They are tears of gratitude for your love, for the cuddling received, for the lovingly kisses and the advices which have always guided me.

A day will come when I will receive your tight hug again and smiling, as always, you will look at the good angels that accompany you and will, serenely, repeat: This is my little grandson.

*   *   *

The bonds of love are not undone by death.

Even that the feeling of missing someone makes itself an exposed sword injuring the soul, let us keep the certainty that, in the kingdom of the Creator, there are no end points. Before, there are the ellipses that indicate the continuity of the existence, in the addresses of the Infinite.

Spiritist  Moment Team.
April 15.2014.