Updated: May 7
First dove— that’s what she used to call me. I’m her first granddaughter, and she gave me that curious nickname.
Grandma Therezinha was always a fun, vibrant presence in my life, full of stories about her childhood in Cuiabá — tales of the unusual (and to me, hilarious) names of her friends in that quiet town that, according to her, later became unrecognizable, without the shady trees and inner gardens she remembered so fondly.
I never visited her hometown, but it felt like I knew it like the back of my hand from her countless stories — from the accident she had as a child, falling onto an iron fence and being bedridden for a year, to her strength, her mischief, and at the same time, her impeccable sense of organization and financial discipline.
I also remember visiting her at work at the State Health Department. As modest as it was, to me it felt like a dream. I still remember her black leather pencil case filled with pencils, erasers, and pens. She took the bus from Leblon to downtown Rio — and of course, more stories came from that route, like the one about a drunk man who passed out during a turn and landed on her foot, actually breaking it. A tragic story, yes, but when she told it, it became pure comedy, always accompanied by her wonderful laughter.
That was Grandma. A passionate Aries who could go from laughter to anger, from teasing to praise, in a heartbeat.
During my teenage years, I started spending even more time at her place, especially because of the beach. I’d stay weekends — and even weekdays — after fencing classes with my cousin Inoã and my aunt Leila, who lived with her. I’d sleep in her room — and even with her legendary snoring, I loved it! You know how a grandmother’s home feels, right?
A few years later, I moved in with her completely, bringing everything I had. It was a sort of crazy deal — “I’ll keep you company” — since she was living alone again, and I had been craving a room of my own since I was three.
Grandma Therezinha became my second mother in a quiet, loving agreement that lasted until I was 27 and got married for the first time. Those were years full of life lessons: about self-esteem — how she always said she saw herself as beautiful and confident, without shame — about family, in our big Sunday lunches, and about friendship, during our trips to Talho Capixaba, our gossip sessions, and the soap operas we watched together.
I remember the letter I wrote her, crying, as I said goodbye to her house when I got married for the first time. Less than two years later, I divorced… and went back to her company. We lived together for almost seven more years, until I married again and moved to the U.S.
These past 10 years living abroad, I visited Brazil four times, and each time I emotionally recharged by spending time with her — asking her to tell my favorite stories again, flipping through her photo albums, asking about old acquaintances, begging her to make the banana cuca I loved, and soaking up her gentle head rubs with her long fingernails.
Ah, I could stay here reminiscing forever... even about when she’d pretend to understand what I said but actually hadn’t heard a thing because her hearing aid was off.
Oh, Grandma Therezinha... a lover of life, of cold beer, of vanilla ice cream she sometimes hid from guests. On my last visit, I got to introduce her to my furry son, my dog Herkey, who I took with me to Rio. She could never pronounce his name correctly, but the way she said it was the sweetest and most loving version — in true Therezinha style.
Your first dove is here, going through treatment, getting stronger, inspired by the way you lived and looked at life. I love you!
