REMEMBERING

big yiayia
I turned my apartment upside down this morning looking for a random note I saved several years ago. Instead of finding it, I came across memory upon memory. In the piles of memories, there was Big Yiayia. Big Yiayia was 103 when she died. We called her big yiayia, because she was my great grandmother. She was not, however, big at all. She was full of life and love and purple hair. And she told the most hilarious stories. She is the reason my business is named Koukla Mou. She would grab my cheeks and repeat "rachel, rachel, rachel, koukla mou, koukla mou (my doll, my doll)" again and again. She never failed to ask "how are the cats?" even when I didn't have cats anymore. She was always smiling, always bobbing her head just a little bit, sometimes singing old greek songs, and always sharing stories. There is one story that remains my favorite.

ice cream
Big Yiayia came to America "on the boat" when she was 16. Her uncle picked her up and bought her an ice cream. A while later, he turned to her and asked, "Jennie, how was your ice cream?" Her reply, "I put it in my pocket for later."

just smile
I didn't really understand Big Yiayia when I was little. I understood "cat" and "rachel" but the rest was Greek. I just smiled and nodded. Although she spoke mostly Greek and broken English, I never doubted her love for me. She loved in her smile, her body positioning, and with her eyes.

Thank you, Yiayia. For loving without even having to say a word.