Yiayia's Journey Part 26

On Christmas Eve of 2004, my grandmother Yiayia braced for the worst moment of her long life. On what was supposed to be a joyous occasion, that horrible hourglass sifted the last grains of sand for her beloved daughter Anastasia. 

Stricken with cancer, the once joyful Anne lay clinging to life in a lonely hospital room. An hour away from Yiayia s 'little pink house with the red door', the family gathered to say a gut wrenching goodbye.
Searching for the words to thank my dear aunt for her infinite love ~ I told her a story about a boy I met in Dallas. And though now blind and unable to speak, my Thea Anne squeezed my hand. Again and again. As if to say, "Go on, sweetie." And so gathering my courage, I declared, "He's wonderful Thea. And I'm going to marry him." For I wanted her to know that the niece she loved would be taken care of after she departed.

Just minutes before Christmas Day ~ the priest arrived to deliver last rites. And yet still, my beloved Thea clung to life. For the entirety of Christmas Day, Thea Anne would not die. It was as if she refused to forever taint the memory of that holy day for us.  And so on December 26th a stoic Yiayia sat by her daughter's side. Took her hand. And gave her beloved Anne one final instruction. In her native Greek she said, "Anastasia. It's not Christmas Day anymore. It's okay to go now. We will be okay. My sweetheart, you can go now." 

And a few hours later ~ the little girl who never knew a stranger, the first in our family to graduate from college ~ dutifully obeyed her mother. And yet in doing so she tested the very limits of my Yiayia's endurance: she preceded her to Heaven.
In honor of Thea Anne, my parents and I journeyed to our beloved homeland of Greece six months later. And that boy I'd told her about came along too. For there, on our ancestral island of Kythera ~ near the platia where my grandfather first glimpsed Yiayia decades ago ~ that boy asked my father for my hand in marriage.
So on January 14th, 2006, a grieving Penelope Conomos grabbed her clutch. Locked the door. And journeyed to church. For inside those sacred walls, her granddaughter Alexa was to marry in a Greek Orthodox ceremony so very like her own 75 long years ago.


After I kissed my grandmother at the wedding reception, I looked deeply into her eyes and was devastated by what I saw. Her sparkle - gone. Her laughter - silenced. And with great sadness, I realized the former village girl - who'd always danced to celebrate 'the life' ~ even in all of its imperfections ~ would break Greek tradition that night. To my utter regret, Yiayia would not dance with me at my wedding. And I couldn't help but fear that the wonderfully witty and infinitely loving grandmother I'd always adored and revered ~ was somehow now gone forever.

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