for a group art project

My grandma died. No, it didn’t happen today or yesterday, but a few months ago, and this is for the first time I can put it in words and write it down. When I write down things, here or elsewhere, I have a feeling that I make them a part of my personal history. Unlike memories in my mind, that can just disappear or change.

My grandma’s name was Izabella Usviatsova. This is her at the right side, first row, followed by photos of my mum, me, and then my three children in the bottom row.

It feels sometimes so strange, like I am one of her big notebooks, that she was filling up with texts, useful information and lists. I am as well full with useful information she gave me, with her stories, emotions, ideas, hugs, sweets, books, values. I still love her so much, but this love is now really useless.