To My Favorite Person

Dear Safta,

Yamileth and I played your card game a few nights ago. I won.

We hadn't played in a while; life tends to get in the way. You know how it is.

But you always made time. For everyone. Even if they were assholes, or selfish, or not always the kindest. Later you'd gab about it and lift your eyebrows in a shrug. Saying, "may there not be worse things."

You'd always make time for me. I mean, I'd only see you every couple of years- but you'd receive me with all your heart as if no time had passed. Gosh, I appreciated that.

No matter how I grew, or changed, you always stayed the same. Safta and Safta's apartment. It was as if you persevered everything about you so I wouldn't feel like I missed out.

You remained timeless. Even the smell stayed. I loved that smell...

I have to admit that writing this is very difficult. How do I even begin to put your essence into words? To preserve you. Words barely even begin to convey who you were and what you mean to me. My favorite person. My Safta.

You always welcomed me with open arms. קארהלה מקנדה.

You'd show me off to the convenience store seller on the main floor. The vegetable vendor on the corner of Krautze. The falafel guy on the corner who mom always insisted on going to (even though I didn't think the falafel was all that great). But I was your great-granddaughter from Canada. You were always so proud of me. And you always worried about me too.

"Wear slippers in the house! You'll catch a cold." Which I always rejected and rebelled against because I loved your cold tiled floor against my feet.

"Take a sweater, it's cold out!" It was only 28 degrees Celsius!

"Eat more, eat more, I made lots." After scarfing down two plates, no matter how salty.

I remember when you came to Canada to stay with us for the summer. We refilled the table saltshaker three times during your stay. We couldn't understand how you could eat so much salt! Funnily enough, years later when you had to get blood tests done after one of your brain aneurysms, it turned out that you were low on sodium. Low!

I'd refill that saltshaker every day if it meant seeing your eyes sparkle one more time. Or see you cut half an avocado in your hand with a knife. Slowly, shakily at times, but yet with so much control.

You were the most patient person I ever knew. Maybe it was the years. Or all the wars and battles you survived.

No matter the conflict, you remained level-headed. I don't know how you did it. You understood the world on another level and didn't ask much of it.

And you didn't judge. Never.

Not my parents screaming. Not my aunt cutting off her own children and mother. Not my cousin joining the army or being gay. Not your own brother's wife for keeping him away from you. Not the traffic or the late buses. And not me.

You just understood. And calmly listened. Shared stories about using horse poop to polish the floors. Which I still don't know if that was true.

You never remembered that I was lactose intolerant, and I loved you for it. You'd offer me cottage cheese and pizza and chocolate. My mom, immediately stopping you, saying, "she can't!!". For the record, I could. It just wouldn't be great for me. And then we'd go get soy milk that tasted so much better than in Canada.

You didn't even judge my breakfast! That was one of my favorite times with you. It was one of our times, when no one else was up. We were early risers. You'd take out bread, tomatoes, lettuce, radishes, cucumbers, peppers, and that damn avocado. I'd eat cereal or soy cheese on its own. You'd always look at my breakfast funny, raise an eyebrow, make that "well, okay" face, and keep eating. Okay, maybe you kind of judged my breakfast habits. But you only offered more, never complained.

I'd watch your wrinkled hands do and give everything. You could never sit still for long. Except when we played cards.

Safta's game.

I loved playing with you. To this day, you were the best person to play with; even when you started to bend the rules as you aged and forgot.

You played fast. Thought fast. Gosh, you were beating me in your 90s. You'd say "mamma mia pizzaria" when you had a bad hand and then you'd proceed to kick my butt! You were the best card player. We'd play 7 games in less than an hour. (It feels like it takes one hour just for one game with Yamileth!)

I wish you got to meet her in person when you were alive. I know you somehow knew about her. You always knew. You always understood. I always appreciated that about you.

And I know that you were there with us at our wedding. I am blessed every day since, wearing your wedding ring on my ring finger. I think about you every day, Safta. Every moment. I carry you with me. And I'm so grateful and lucky to have been able to be your granddaughter.

I love you so much Safta. And I know that even with all the crazy changes in my life, that you're smiling down at me. Trusting me, knowing that I am doing my best. And never judging.

Say hi to Saba for me, and that I still tell the story of the only time I met him. Oh, and kick his butt in cards for me.

Love always,

קארהלה