Sometimes I feel the touch of its transparent wings on my skin.
Recently, one of them murmured sweet words in my ear: “Today you are more Carmencita than ever.” Carmencita is my mom.
They visit me frequently.
Some inspire me to cook one of those classic Chupe caraqueños, never like the one made by the endearing Tía Olga. Other take a Ponche Crema with me in December. I see great-grandmothers in some gestures of my grandchildren.
Yes, they are my old ladies, my fairies. Those that left their chrysalis and became butterflies of light and are out there playing.
A few days ago, two of them, on golden wings, flew to other domains. Camila, my mom’s best friend, the two most beautiful women in Los Teques. They are now catching up, telling stories. Camilla was 102 years old.
Gitta, my German mother-in-law, indestructible, as she ironically defined herself, passed away at almost 97 years of age.
And as much as their departure saddens me, somehow now I feel them happier and closer.
Finally, they let go this shell of old age, which was already heavy for them, and they flew happily over an endless green field, like little girls. They rightly say that old age is a mask, which when it falls reveals the infantile face of the soul.
I welcome these two new fairies to my daily life.