Less than three days after my grandmother died, my mother called in and told me my grandfather Jose María was in hospital, after suffering a stroke during the night.

I've spent the last three days at the hospital, trying to find out if he'll come back from unconciousness. It seems, after 72 hours that he's not going to. All we can do is wait for the end. :(

I feel quite empty after the longest week of my life.

The last time I saw my grandmother was last Saturday, when I went to have lunch at Godella. When she arrived, I went down to the street to help her out of the car, and as soon as she saw me coming, she said "Ah, si és el Jordi!". She was a bit clumsier than the last time I had seen her, and took her time to get to the staircase. Climbing the 6 steps was quite difficult for her, more than other times. During lunch, she was cheerful, and sat at my side, from where she would ask for some of the stuff she wasn't supposed to eat, hoping I would provide against "the rules". I'm glad I went to Godella on Saturday.

My grandmother died today, while sleeping. My grandfather went to wake her up but she was gone. Of my four grandparents, she was the one I felt more identified with, as she was a republican, leftist, and the "black sheep", in a way, of the family. She enjoyed that my sister Marta and me spoke to her in her mother tongue, as nobody else did in the house. I think she had both of us in a special consideration for this, besides we are, in a way, the black sheep of the family as well. :)

I will always remember the summers at Benicàssim, when I was 5 or so, sitting on her lap watching the sea, with the sunset behind us. She would rock her chair and sing some song until we fell asleep, first my sister, then me, then my older cousin Borja, and then carry us to our bed. This would happen every single night during the three Summer months, and is one of the most clear memories I have of that age.

I remember visiting her at Sitges, near Barcelona, and drinking the horrible tap water in the town, with a strong salty taste. I remember a sign in her kitchen, which read "La netedat és un gran senyal de civilització", which was also present in some other places of the town. Her house was always very clean. When we went out, she would always go out to the balcony and wave until we were round the corner. I really loved that.

Today, she's gone, and I'm really going to miss her. Our relief is that despite her memory problems in the last few years (she could ask the same thing a few times in five minutes, but still had a good historical memory, and would ocassionally tell me stories about the Spanish Civil War in Barcelona), she has led a quite pleasant life, with her friends in Sitges, and later with her family when they moved here. More importantly, she has died in peace and at home and without any suffering... she really feared having to go to hospitals.

Abuela, thanks for these fantastic 27 years we've shared. I think I've learned a lot from you, and will live believing that your way of thinking and the 1/4th of Catalan roots in me is your biggest inheritance. Tomorrow the family will go to cremate you. I'll stay at home with the grandfather and with the last image I have of you, sitting in the garden with that smile on your face.