Dearest abuela by Sonia Boue

I wish you could know how much I have thought about you since I was given your bag  I’m full of questions for you about how you managed to run your house so beautifully with so much method. Now that I run a house I appreciate this. I turned out to be quite scatterbrained. I expect you’re not surprised. I seem to lurch from chaos to order and back at random, yet you were constant and ran your ship tightly always. I wonder so much about when Daddy had to leave Spain and you and Abuelo also fled the fascists. You never spoke about this. I guess you wanted to forget. I had an idea that I could write to you and ask you lots of questions. Not really about then, but more about now.

Then the questions you couldn’t answer, I mean, how could you? It’s not reasonable to expect this, we both know that you are dead (excuse me for mentioning it by the way). The now questions are a better proposition as I can imagine your answers. You will be speaking to me as I remember you and as I imagine you would now respond. It’s as though you’ve been speaking to me through your bag anyway, so it isn’t a stretch is it? If I had known how your bag would knock me backwards into yesterday I would have asked for it sooner. The delight I suppose is being back with you as I am now, not as a child who simply receives without question. I can’t help but marvel at what you did for us and constantly question whether I could ever do the same. If that’s alright then dear Abuela, I will write to you often, particularly when I’m stuck.I have come to think, everyone needs a grandma.

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