„She gave her all for me. I cannot leave her hanging all alone”, Klara told herself while
taking her shoes and jacket off. She just got back home from visiting her grandma.
Right there, on her little table in the hallway, the postcard her parents sent her was sitting.
This one was from Malta, it was one of many.
Klara’s dad was a successful international correspondent for a well-known online magazine.
One of the most famous in Europe. A few years ago, he changed his job from being a senior editor in Berlin, for this big chance. Her mother and him, left just weeks after he made that decision. Back in during time, Klara was still studying art-history at the university. She got her degree and started to work in a local art gallery. While loving her job, other than work, there was not much holding her in Berlin but, there was Grandma. She already had been care-dependent before her parents left. They took care of everything and, that’s why she had the luxury of having a private nurse living with her. Still, there was something missing: Family.
More than once, her parents asked her to pull up stakes and leave to be with them.
The magazine her dad worked for, offered Klara a job as a columnist, for a weekly art feature. She could travel the world and explore the local art, together with her parents.
Indeed, the task of writing something profound every week scared her a little but then again, she was sure she could succeed. Each time when she left to see her grandma, Klara told her herself, that she’d talk to her about it. She never had the heart to do so.
Too heavy, the guilt arising in her heart. The guilty feeling of leaving her alone.
The loneliness she’d probably fall into.
Not only once, she came home in anger. Not like her grandmother ever said anything that made her mad, but because, Klara, was such a coward. She was simply not able to make the words leave her lips. Also, she was mad at her parents. They were just doing whatever their own plan was about, being closer related to grandma than she was.
For sure, they took good care of her. From afar.
The next morning, Klara glanced the last time onto the postcard her parents had sent while taking her jacket. On her way to the subway, she built up her speech in her mind: “Grandma, I love you, but I don’t want to waste that opportunity”,
“Please don’t cry. I will come to visit as often as possible”,
“I hesitated for so long, but now I’ve made my choice”.
Just as she turned the key in the lock of her grandma’s door, her heart was beating heavily. Anne-Marie, the nurse of her grandma was waiting for her. Ready to take her jacket.
“Go inside, Klara. She’s waiting already”, Anne-Marie said, in a happy tone.
Klara walked through the big, white folding doors into the living room of the old lady, who was sitting in her wheelchair, facing the big window.
“My baby, I’m so happy you are here”, she said, with an angelic smile on her face.
Autumn leaves were dancing in the wind outside.
“I, I am so happy to see you, too, Grandma”, Klara said. Almost pushing the words out.
How the heck could she even think about that? Exactly, she could not.
Gratitude is sometimes a bond, but often a chain.
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe