Nena’s Window

I almost did not know her, because for me she always has lived outside. The missing grandmother who appeared from time to time at the airport and called the day of my birthday. We did not talk too much but felt close, like a mountain you don’t have to climb to know is there. Then I also left the country, but to a different place and never asked her how or why she immigrated. At the age of ninety-one in a town of New Jersey, she receives me. This is the story of our last meeting.