asou!
Last week I left you at the edge of 1997, with me researching Greek citizenship. Today I want to share something personal with you, about my grandparents, and a belief I've carried since I was a little girl. And it played a part in the summer I spent in Greece in 1997.
Growing up, I lived with my family in a two-bedroom apartment located in New Haven, Connecticut. My parents owned the three-family house on Central Avenue and my brother James and I shared a bedroom. James was named after Papou (grandfather) Dimitri, a name that was traditionally anglicized to James, though I am not quite sure why. In our bedroom in 1974 when I was seven years old, my mom, Daphne, sat down next to me on my bed, crying. She had just returned from Greece. I was so scared by the sight of her crying. Her mouth had a frown I didn’t understand. I could not imagine what was wrong.
“Yiayia (grandmother) Theone has been very sick over the last few months while she was living in Athens,” she explained to me between sobs. “The Greek doctor made a mistake and gave her the wrong medicine. It made her sicker instead of helping her to get better.” Her voice quivered and she could not look at me directly, the pain in her eyes. “Yiayia Theone is in heaven now.” She hugged me tight.
I had never seen my mother cry so much.
The next year, my father’s mother, Yiayia Irini, had been staying with us for a while, in my bed as I slept on the floor. She grew a large garden in our little city sized yard and would make us zucchini flower pancakes that were sweet and delicious. But then she got sick. My father Gus came home from the hospital one day after visiting her and sat next to me on my bed, crying. The sight of my father crying was even more alarming to me. I had never in my life seen him cry at all. His eyes were red and he nearly hiccuped as he tried to get the words out.
“Yiayia Irini has gone to heaven together with all the rest of your grandparents … but they are all together in heaven now watching over you. They all love you so very much and you will be able to feel their presence during the happy moments in your life and they will help you if you have troubles in life.”
Both of my papous had died before I was even born. So as a small child, I was always taught that my grandparents were all up in heaven, helping me when I was in need and sharing in all the good times of my life. It became a kind of myth, one I never stopped believing, even as an adult.
Throughout the summer of 1997, as I traveled around Greece, I would “whisper” to my grandparents, as if they were helping to guide me. You will see those whispers throughout Called to Greece when the book is published.
Over that summer I had fallen in love with Manuel. But I had to return home to America, and my job and he stayed in Greece. Manuel and I wrote love letters and faxes across the Atlantic Ocean to each other during what felt like a very long time apart. I still have all of those letters and faxes – as well as the ticket he used when he finally came to America.
In one of the letters, I wrote to him about my feeling that my grandparents were watching over me:
Hello Sweetheart! October 13, 1997
I have been meaning to tell you something special. You know my two papous died before I was born, and my two yiayias died when I was 7 and 8. All my life I have been told that my papous and yiayias were watching over me in heaven and they could see what I was doing. That feeling has always stuck with me and sometimes in my mind I talk to them. Many times to tell them I wish I could have known them better and many times to ask them to explain why things happen the way they do. There are other times I think of them and talk to them when I learn things about their lives or I share something with them. Like when I make my yiayias recipes or I learn about Greece where they come from.
Maybe my grandparents were leading me somewhere that summer. I wouldn't understand how far until much later. More to come in Called to Greece.
Thank you for following my journey,
Katina