I turned around and left the house without ever saying goodbye to her. That was it, and in a blink I was gone. This was the only home I had ever known, and she was the main female figure in my life.
Looking back, I wish things had been different. I wish I had gone to her and hugged her. I wish that I had told her how much I appreciated all of her efforts in raising and caring for me. I wish that I had at least gone over and touched her or kissed her, or shown some sort of emotion as I was leaving, but to a child these things don't come to mind. I was leaving on another adventure with my mother, grandfather and this little taxi man. So, I turned and walked out of the only home I had ever known, got in the taxi, and left my town for a destination that was still unknown to me.
In the taxi, I could tell the mood was somewhat somber, but nobody put on any pretenses that this was a sad occasion. In my little mind, I guess I never thought that this would be the last time I would see Spain through the eyes of a child. The towns passed by, and the people worked and toiled in the fields as we sped through. To where? I didn't know.
Finally, the taxi came to a port town on the west coast of Spain. There were boats littered about the port. People were boarding and exiting massive ships. The taxi stopped in a designated area, and we made our exit. My grandfather helped the taxi driver with the luggage, and my mother went to make sure that everything was set with tickets and boarding for the trip back to Venezuela. I stood around taking in the sights. There were huge ships surrounding me, and the sound of the port was deafening.
People moved about, hustling merchandise on and off the cargo holds. The staff shuttled passengers aboard, while the crew tried to make sure that all the luggage and necessities were taken to where they needed to be. The merchants on the pier were also in their element. They hawked their wares to anyone who showed the remotest sign of interest in whatever it was they had to offer.
As we had time to spare, my grandfather said he was going to a nearby cafe so he could enjoy one of his favorite Schweppes. I helped the taxi driver get the luggage to where it needed to go, and then lost myself in my surroundings, enjoying the sounds of the pier. Before long, my mother returned with tickets in hand. She said that she had to go take care of something, and I was to remain with the taxi driver until she returned. I did as I was told and waited. I waited for what seemed an eternity with this strange man on this strange pier, feeling a bit uneasy.
Finally, my mother returned from wherever it was she had gone and took me by the hand. She looked at me and told me that it was time to leave and gather whatever things I had with me so we could board the ship. I did as I was told. As we were approaching the ship, I stopped short. I asked my mother where my grandfather was, and she looked down, and only told me that we had to go. I resisted. I told her that I wanted to see my grandfather before we left, and I was not going to get on that ship until I saw him. She tried to explain to me that it was too difficult, and we were running out of time. I resisted even more, and, by this time, I was growing a bit irritated at the insinuation that I would not be able to properly say goodbye to the only father I had ever known.
My mother motioned to the taxi driver who saw my growing agitation. She asked him to help her get me on board the ship; he scooped me up in his arms, with me crying and whining, and rushed me towards the passengers' embarkation. They got me to the ship and aboard without further incident.
I never saw my grandfather again that day prior to leaving for Venezuela. I never got the opportunity to give him a hug and tell him how much I loved him. I never had the chance to rap my arms around him and tell him how much I appreciated everything he had ever done for me, and I never got to tell him how much I enjoyed being his granddaughter.
The next time I would see my grandparents would be upon my return to Spain for medical school at the age of 16. Again, they would prove to be my biggest supporters and my biggest allies.
Some time later, I asked my mother why she did not let me say goodbye to my grandfather that day on the pier. Her only response to me was, "It was just easier that way." Easier for who - I don't know. You see, when she left me with the taxi driver, she had gone herself to say goodbye to my grandfather. She had told him that we were leaving, and she informed him that he would not have the chance to say goodbye to me. This affected him deeply. How do I know this? I know because, my mother told me the last sight she had of him that day as she was walking away was of him crying like an infant in the street and hugging a lamp post.
This man had more love in his heart for me than I could have ever imagined, and for this I must be eternally grateful. I hope that he knew that I had the same love in my heart for him.