I had a dream last night; you were showing me your house, your garden, your flowers, your fruits, your ducks in the house you were born and raised in Romania. We were sitting in a corner afterwards, you were telling me about old times, those you experienced in those long years... First, you told about your mother that you never saw, than the story of how my grandfather who was your neighbour next-door, stole your heart. One story led to another, I asked you to tell one more time the story of how you came to Turkey with one luggage at hand and you restart everything from scratch...
Now... You’re 87, you started telling about death. You don’t leave your house often but you can’t stand still inside as well. You would either water your flowers or tidy up the house. We all take this after you anyhow.
I remember it well, my grandfather used to call you as “Peltotay”; Mrs. Noble or Mrs. Polite... And you’re the one I love, my 'cotton' grandmother...
I hope our journey together will continue for a long time. We still have many places to visit, many stories to tell each other...
You're my dearest and nearest...
