Tired. But cheerful.
When I see myself as a grandma, I do think of myself as tired.
Not in a bad way.
I would like to think: ''I am tired and ready to go to sleep.''
This means: ''I had a wonderful and exciting life, I have no regrets when it comes to serious life choices, I learned about love, I gave it, I received it, and now I am ready to go.''
That is good tiredness.
The bad one would be: ''I want to be twenty again, and get a chance to do everything, or live most of my life, differently.''
That is my fear. Getting at this point, when I am all wrinkled, at the twilight of my life and think: ''I didn't say all that I wanted to say. I didn't do what was necessary. I didn't laugh enough. I didn't make enough mistakes.''
I would like to die like my grandma.
She died peacefully, in her bed, tired, but satisfied. She was surrounded by love.
I remember being quite angry because I lost her.
But later, my rage turned into gratitude.
I had that honor of having her in my life, the honor of being held by her hands, watched by her eyes, and protected by her heart.
I miss her.
I miss you grandma.
