It didn’t occur to me until my grandmother and I passed through Chilean immigration that we were both on our own. In Spanish, the official asked for my marital status: Soltera/Single and then that of my grandmother: Viuda/Widowed. Both without a significant man in our lives yet at different sides of the evolution. Myself, still full of hope and idealism about the near perfect man who I will spend the rest of my life with and Tata, having already done that and now on her own. Here I was waiting for the rest of my life to get started and she, discovering a new one. Everything I wondered about she already knew. I realized my trip would be less about seeing South America and more about discovering the wisdom within the woman who stood before me.
My first easy lesson: Even more frightening than seeing yourself in you mother, is seeing yourself in your 70’s. All of my character traits that I love and hate, illuminated before me in my grandmother. I was not allowed to carry her suitcase off the plane, because she could do it on her own. If there was something she didn’t understand, time stopped until she did. She took her calcium and journaled in bed. I was picking and choosing which qualities in myself I would nourish and others I would continue to ignore.
During our travels she let me lead, trusting my instincts while I happily obliged to take on the responsibility of her care. The truth is, we were respecting my own mother’s wishes of us taking care of one another. To my mother’s credit, she had both her only daughter and only mother trekking foreign lands together.
I watched my grandmother enter the home where her late sister had lived for most of her life with my great-grandfather. There was a slight of regret that we had not taken this trip sooner but a childlike nostalgia in discovering the house she only knew as a postal code. I took photographs to capture what a home feels like after its inhabitants depart. My grandmother carefully ruffled through a musty jewelry collection and said a silent prayer to the icon of the Virgin Mary that hung on the wall.
We walked through orchards appreciating the taste of a juicy fig and the smell of fresh lemons. I was her personal photographer as she required every moment be captured and in turn shared with the family we had left behind. A job I reluctantly enjoyed.
Under my encouragement, she walked barefoot on sand for the first time in her 75 years. A pleasure I had long taken for granted. Even the years she spent living by the Mediterranean Sea in Gaza had never offered the opportunity. Tata was surprised at the chill in the Pacific Ocean. Our legs laid half buried in the sand next to each other, mine tanned yet larger than I would prefer and hers strong yet varicosed, encapsulating the stamp of six pregnancies.
Under her encouragement and my despair, I peeled myself out of bed on Palm Sunday to attend mass with her. She repeated the Lord’s Prayer in Arabic while I contemplated how tradition and culture define exiled communities still keeping a close eye on the Sunday fashion in Vina del Mar.
I meet her elders, the most memorable was a graceful woman of 102 years who was dining with her 84-year old son and threw regular dinner parties. She discussed with me her future goals as I stood in awe of yet another woman who was not waiting for life to end but rather fiercely embracing it. I ambitiously envisioned one day sharing my dreams and wisdom with my great- grandchildren while still looking beautiful. Everything I knew of old people was deconstructing before my eyes.
Alejandra, another distant relative stood sexy, stunning and single in her 80’s still not regretting never marrying her fiancé. “He was just not right for me, but we are still great friends,” she recounted. "I had once read that 'someone is not old until his regrets take the place of his dreams.’" By this measurement, I had yet to encounter any old women in Chile. Stepping outside of my peers was teaching me much more than I had ever expected. These women easily saw how much love and learning stood before me and hoped that I enjoyed the exact moment I was in. I felt my innocence.
I witnessed Tata proudly introducing herself to other Palestinian women sharing the triumphs of her many accomplishments and the horrors of wars she had survived. The Chilean Ambassador from Palestine herself felt honored to meet such a dedicated proponent of human rights. I knew long ago that if my grandmother could live forever, she would somehow orchestrate equal rights for all mankind, one person at a time. Her naiveté worked in her favor as she is good hearted enough to believe that this world could be a better place. Or is that just the lack of fear? After what she has seen, I know that her hope and endless insistence on justice come from a place far deeper than what I can see.
I saw a fearless woman who still sought adventure. I saw a woman who gave more to others than she ever expected to receive. She asked for what she wanted yet had no ounce of selfishness. She enjoyed understanding each person she met and without her knowledge left them inspired. I saw my grandmother who needed more naps than I required and more comforts than I desired. I saw Buenos Aires from a tour bus.
One, all-inclusive evening, we met a lovely French couple in their 60’s over a Tango performance. Although language was a superficial barrier, Tata found a way to connect with the French man’s wife. They talked about their children.
There were many great meals, and the occasional chocolate ice cream cone yet there were others moments where I wished I could go dancing until sunrise with the rest of Argentina. Still, we had each other’s back, she didn’t hesitate to notice when she spotted a young handsome man. Surprising to me, humor translates across generations. My grandmother could smell an overly confident and cologned man before I could. She understood me for my true character and loved me for the woman that I am.
The one moment that will forever be with me, was when my grandmother recounted the first time she knew she loved my grandfather. Tata had taken me to the sacred place she carried on her own, and we became two girlfriends sharing morning coffee. Neither of us were alone, soletera or viuda.
