Like every 8th of December, I remember with a lot of love and affection how my grandmother and my mother cut roses in our garden. We put on nice dresses, and arm in arm we were going to the beginning of the month of Maria, to a grotto of the Virgin close to our home, in front to the hospital where I was born, in a town called Linares.
I remember my grandmother fixing her hair in front of the mirror with a comb, like the ones my grandfather sold in his shop. He had everything I could imagine and recognize... on the shelves and all the small drawers (to me, it was like thousands).
I remember my mother put pins in her short hair, to create small curls, which she then combed neatly and put on hairspray. Most of my childhood memories are from there, in these precious images, which now have a big space in my heart.
Grandmother, I wish you were here and the three of us again were arm in arm, with a bouquet of roses, to go and see our Virgin on this special day. I miss you!
