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It’s been already three years since she’s gone. Three years and I still feel that she’s alive, that she’s sitting in her chair watching some tennis match and saying “I can’t understand why these ladies players scream when they hit the ball, it’s so rude!”.

She wasn’t a typical grand-mom, she didn’t bake any delicious cakes for me. She didn’t take me in her lap to read me stories or neither she spoiled me with treats or cuddles. But, she was that kind of grand-mom who binds a family. She gave us this family awareness that we are part of something and no matter what the family will always be there strong and united.

No, she wasn’t a typical granny, she didn’t have a grey hair with bun on top. Her hair was always perfectly done. She used to sit in her dressing table and combed the hair and put make-up. I remember thinking how chic my grand-mom was. Even in her last year of life, with ninety-one years old, she never lost her graciousness.

She was a beautiful, beautiful women, but her hands…she had such beautiful hands. Very long fingers with which she elegantly held the cigarette. This gesture it’s so alive in my memory!

It was those beautiful hands that I held strongly in my last day with her and I wish I was holding them today.

I used to give her plants and flowers as a gift. For my avó Tété:

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