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When I traveled back to France in mid-January 2019 last year to look after my 94 years old great auntie, the person I loved the most, I did not know I would be the chosen one to accompany you in your last days in between the two worlds.

I usually went to cheer you up and you would get better immediately. Or you would cheer me up when I needed to. We were both the scapegoats of the family, the black sheep! I would always find refuge at your house at any time of the day and you would make me choux a la creme at 9 pm to comfort me. You were always encouraging me to embrace my life, to embrace how different and independent I am, to be alone rather than being in an unhappy relationship “Leave this one, you’ll find a better one and be better alone!” and not to let anyone criticised me or not accepting me for who I was.

When I traveled back to France in January last year to look after you, my great auntie, I did not take any of my cameras with me as I usually do, apart from my smartphone. The day you told that you had enough of waiting, on a Wednesday lunchtime, I asked you “What are you tired of waiting for Tatine?”, while I was forcing you to eat the incipient and tasteless hospital food alone in the room, and you said “Death. I am tired of waiting for my death. It is taking a long time to come”.

At that instant, I took out the polaroid camera I had found in your house and that you had given me and took a picture of you. “Tatine, regardes moi. Donnes moi un sourire!”. And here you were, smiling, beautiful and happy again, like all the pictures I took of you during your stay at the hospital. You would always smile at me. I did not want to cry in front of You Nor could I talk about death with you, I ignored it and I regret it.

It was hard for me to bear so I grabbed my polaroid camera and went for a walk while you were sleeping. I cried and cried and cried. It was snowing on that day. I went out to photograph it for you.

My camera was my tool to heal and grieve. I had no words. I was staying at your house on my own, for the time in 38 years. The emptiness was hard. You would always ask me to see the pictures I took of you and would say “Don’t use that one, I look old and with wrinkles!”. You were 94!

When I traveled back to France in mid-January last year to look after you, my great auntie, I did not know that on the early afternoon of the 25th February 2019, the day of my mum’s birthday, I would arrive from lunch with my cousin who came to visit you from Beaune and open the door and found you there. Gone. Breathless. I was so angry that you did not wait for me. You had left us just a few minutes ago said the doctor. “She knew you were coming at this time and it is very common for people to want to leave alone”. You looked in peace and beautiful. As you donated your body to science, I was the only one able to see you and to say goodbye. They gave me a special permit, you know me, I did not take no for an answer and they saw me so sad and affected that they prepare your body just for me. And I could see you already happy with your little cheeky brother Robert, with your beloved Andre, the only love of your life.

All I could do when I arrived back at your house, alone, empty, was to lie down in your bed and take a self-portrait. My camera, my phone actually, became my best tool for expression, allowing me to take pictures and document the 5 days I spent alone there. Self-portraits with the dozens of pairs of glasses that I kept finding, (and wondering how on earth did you collect so many and wished I had known you younger when you were a starlet. I would wear some of your clothes, do things you loved doing….connecting with you the last time.

The night before, we talked about the care you would need once back home and I guess you just did not want that. Every day you would tell me: “Ingrid, you should go back home, you have to work”. And she knew that I would never leave her alone until she got better. So she left. Silently, discreetly, as she has been her whole life, a heroine during the war, a youth worker and nurse, a card player cheater, a banquet chef, a sweet lover, a party girl when younger, a volunteer with the Red Cross, a wife, a life companion, the mum and auntie of everyone in the family, full of medals, full of love, full of stories…but always so humble and discreet. You left without telling me you would leave. I could not tell you how much I loved you. I hope you knew it. I was fearing that day, knowing that it would be the most painful experience of my life and I was right. All my friends knew how important you were to me, they all knew about you, you were the famous Tatine!

The night before, we were looking at pictures and talking about my new friends in Barcelona and you said: “There are all artists. Like you. You are an artist”. Every time I would call you, you would say” Where are you this time? Don’t come to see me. You are young and need to enjoy while you can.” She had worked all her life, being a refugee from WWII until one day she met Pierre, another bored widow full of life, who gave me my first camera when I was 21 and changed the course of my life forever. And together you did more than 100 travels all around the world between the age of 75 and 91! Senegal, India, Thailand, Canada, Kenya, South Africa, Mexico, Tunisia, Bulgaria, Cruise ships….. non-stop. You both celebrated your 91st birthday in the Dominican Republic! Until one day in mid-January 2019 when you told me; “When are you coming? I miss you”, even though we had spent Christmas together. On that day, I could feel something different. So I took the first flight to be next to you. But I never thought you would go so fast. We were talking about your 100 years birthday celebration with a masquerade as you liked!

As I write these words on a spring day of 2020, tears still tenderly caress and embrace my cheeks. Tears of sadness for missing you tremendously, thinking I would be with you right now to protect you from the coronavirus, eating waffles and playing cards, telling you all about my last travel adventures as you loved to listen to them, talking to you about my new friends, cooking together. But also crying of gratitude for having been blessed to have had the best great auntie on the earth. My best friend. My confident. The strongest woman I have ever met. My inspiration. Fortunate that you have chosen me to accompany you on your last travel.

Next week it is your birthday. You would be 95th years old. The avocado tree we planted for you in the Dominican Republic is growing so fast. He is majestuous, strong, and smiley, like you. I miss you. Everyday.

The poem I wrote few days after you start your journey…

Amor eterno
Amor incondicional
Amor sin límite
Amor luminoso

Cuidadora incansable
Viajera inalcanzable

Un sazón inigualable
Guerrera infinita
Alegría para regalar
Historias de vida unicas
Inspiración para las mujeres

Recuerdos sin fin
Brincona como nadie
Rebelde cómo yo
Una fuerza de voluntad ejemplar
Una jugadora addicta
Una tía, madre y abuela
Ojos azules de starlette
Una Madre Teresa incógnita

El amor de mi vida
Mi mejor amiga
Mi inspiración
Mi cómplice
Mi confidente
Mi compañera
Mi héroe

Una estrella más en el cielo para iluminar mi vida y cuidar a este mundo con tu luz, tu fuerza y sonrisa contagiosa

Qué voy a hacer sin ti mi Tatine?