Yiayia's Journey Part 27

In 2004, the once indelibly feisty Penelope Conomos - who'd courageously emigrated from Greece to America - lost her will to adapt and to endure. After her beloved daughter Anastasia died, so too did Yiayia s fighting spirit. And overnight, my wonderfully witty, ever faithful grandmother became a shell of herself.
Even the births of more great-grandchildren could not re-ignite that indelible spark. For she would often say, "I don't know why I'm still here. God doesn't want me. But the devil doesn't want me either!" At the time, we didn't take such comments to heart. But that would soon change.
For one day, Yiayia and I sat overlooking the ocean and she confided, "My Alexa. This looks so much like my homeland. I miss my mother. Too many of my people are gone. They are calling for me. I hear them calling for me." And with dread, I came to a profound, exceedingly painful realization. The longevity I'd always viewed as a blessing - had become like a curse for my Yiayia. 
And so the years passed with too few smiles and too little laughter. Until one day, the former peasant girl couldn't help but notice that her garden needed tending. Her trees - a good trimming. The gutters - a thorough cleaning. And with that, the no nonsense taskmaster awoke. She ventured into her old garage. Grabbed her trusty ladder. And got to work. 

It wouldn't be long before Yiayia s daughter Chrysanthy got a frantic voicemail from a neighbor saying, "Chrys, your mother's on her roof again!" And yet when my father recently threatened to take away her ladder, Yiayia laughed and said, "You go right ahead Tasso - I have two more." Yes, after so much pain and endurance, it seemed that sassy spitfire had finally, thankfully returned.

Nowadays, my daily phone calls with my Yiayia go like this: "Yiayia!!!!" And she will coo, "Oh my Alexa, my sweetheart!" Then me: "Whatcha doing Yiayia?  What's up with you?" And she will sarcastically reply, "Well I'm still here." And we laugh. Then ~ "When you come to see you old Yiayia " And I will say, "I miss you - soon Yiayia." And she will taunt, "Well I don't know if I'll still be here." And I will say, "Yiayia! Yes you will. Come on Yiayia " And finally, with her trademark chuckle she will concede, "Alright my Alexa. Alright. I will wait for you, my sweetie." 

And with that, I hang up the phone with a smile. And my heart is full. I marvel over that beautiful voice. Try to imagine that poor peasant girl from yesterday who journeyed from Greece in what has been a painful but incredible life. And lament that she will never truly grasp the depth of my respect and my love for her.

And so in time for her 107th birthday in March, I plan to visit that beautiful, feisty matriarch in her "little pink house with the red door." I want to gaze upon her prized '66 Dodge Dart that still lazily resides in her garage. To sit at her tiny kitchen table and laugh like we used to. And if I'm ever so lucky, to listen as she shares just one more story about "the life." Her incredible, painful, brilliant and beautiful life. I'm coming home soon, Yiayia. Wait for me.

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