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My Ever-Changing Greece
Sep. 2nd, 2014 11:16 amIt's a very strange feeling to be back in Greece. Some of you may remember my first trip here. A seemingly lengthy two and a half months full of emotional struggles back in 2008 when I initially met this part of my (new) family. George (bio dad) and I spent the first two weeks of that holiday alone on the main floor flat awaiting the arrival of my Grandparents. Everything around and inside of me was new, and on top of that, I was falling in love with James who was thousands of miles away.
When I came back in 2010, the house was quieter - we had lost my Yiayia. My mornings were somber, my ears constantly searching out her gentle sounds. When I would come home from an exciting and adventurous day, she wasn't here to ask me about all I had seen and done. 3 years I knew her. 3. We were cheated.
And here I am again. This time though, we have lost my Pappou. It was rather sudden - a span of a few months. Cancer. We said our goodbyes back in Toronto, in a room with the most spectacular view of the Toronto skyline. I held his hand, said a lot of things I should've said years ago, and kissed his full head of salt and pepper hair.
7 years isn't enough time.
I want to stomp my feet and toss myself around like a toddler in a fit of anger screaming, "It isn't fair! It isn't fair!", but that sort of thing is frowned upon when one is soon to be 33.
I stay on my own in the main level flat now. George above, Fivi, Nikos, and Dion below.
It's eerily quiet, but I rarely feel alone. In the middle of the night, I am awoken by the loud barks of the street dogs and I'm reminded of the now empty room next to me. Pappou's snores merely echos in my mind, the faint image of him tending to the garden, of him sitting across from me on the patio while we gorge on figs and he talks more than at any other time.
Yiayia's soft loving words wash over my skin, they race up and down the hallways, and in the dining room, they force my fork reminding me to eat, eat, eat.
In many ways I know they are all but gone. That what they have given and left with and inside of each of us is their legacy and we will carry that with us always.
But today.
Ohh, today.
I miss them so much.
When I came back in 2010, the house was quieter - we had lost my Yiayia. My mornings were somber, my ears constantly searching out her gentle sounds. When I would come home from an exciting and adventurous day, she wasn't here to ask me about all I had seen and done. 3 years I knew her. 3. We were cheated.
And here I am again. This time though, we have lost my Pappou. It was rather sudden - a span of a few months. Cancer. We said our goodbyes back in Toronto, in a room with the most spectacular view of the Toronto skyline. I held his hand, said a lot of things I should've said years ago, and kissed his full head of salt and pepper hair.
7 years isn't enough time.
I want to stomp my feet and toss myself around like a toddler in a fit of anger screaming, "It isn't fair! It isn't fair!", but that sort of thing is frowned upon when one is soon to be 33.
I stay on my own in the main level flat now. George above, Fivi, Nikos, and Dion below.
It's eerily quiet, but I rarely feel alone. In the middle of the night, I am awoken by the loud barks of the street dogs and I'm reminded of the now empty room next to me. Pappou's snores merely echos in my mind, the faint image of him tending to the garden, of him sitting across from me on the patio while we gorge on figs and he talks more than at any other time.
Yiayia's soft loving words wash over my skin, they race up and down the hallways, and in the dining room, they force my fork reminding me to eat, eat, eat.
In many ways I know they are all but gone. That what they have given and left with and inside of each of us is their legacy and we will carry that with us always.
But today.
Ohh, today.
I miss them so much.
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