I remember the first time we met. I was only 4 years old, and it was decided that you will raise me. We had nothing, and you had even less. I remember the poignant and very distinct smell in your house. The smell that only years of cooking and frying fish with closed windows can create. Your old dresses, made of thin colourful fabric, covered with three layers of sweaters that were rarely washed. Your smile that exposed so much gold and character. Your toughness that was shielding so much warmth and benevolence. Your insistence to spend the last of your savings on my education, formal and not. The food we never had so I could play the piano or become a ballerina. The Jewelry sold to pay for my summer school in England. Your complete and total dedication to me. Your protection, and guidance and unconditional love and acceptance. Your first and last touch that I so vividly feel on my skin. Grandma, you died and I was so far away from you. And by the time I arrived there was not even a cold body to kiss. And when I stood at the foot of your grave, I could feel but one thing: I remembered all those years in my childhood, in which you held me in your arms. I remember placing my ear on your chest and hearing your heart pounding. And this memory won´t let go. And it makes me so sad and so happy. So lost and so found. So belonging with what I shall never be able to call again, my own. Your Olena