I'm in my grandma's bedroom.
The walls are yellow, her favorite color.
There's a little night desk where she puts her magazines.
Her bed is big, bigger than mine.
The wood wardrobe contains basic clothes.
She's lying in the bed, sleeping.
I decide to sit in a chair, beside her.
I look at her.
She's only 53 years old, how could she get Alzheimer?
She seems so fragile, so peaceful.
She has wrinkles all around her face, but now, she gives the impression of being young.
The smile she's showing, melts my heart completely.
That feeling of wanting to hug her and never let her go.
I hold her hand, dropping some tears without notice it.
She's the woman who brought me up and taught me how to get through the hard moment in which my parents died.
She's the woman who made me laugh in the second I thought I would never smile again.
She's the woman who gave everything for me, for her granddaughter.
And I'm thankful.
I'm thankful because she's the woman who raised me and made me the human I am today.
"Thank you..." I whisper out loud.
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