El que em queda de tu

Oblivion reaps the beauty of the moments of a life. little by little but quickly the mother who was your mother fades away. Her bright moments are becoming more and more sparse: she no longer kisses you full of tenderness and joy and no longer utters your name so often. Because all this was before the verb to remember had body and weight. For some time now, Fineta is no longer what she used to be. A cruel, imposed and sad illness clouds his mind. Everything that was part of her life - the fruit shop in the village of Benetússer, near Valencia, the meetings with relatives and neighbors, the stories of Grandma Teresa, whom she treasured - is doomed to oblivion. Only the sporadic returns of his daughter to the village, from where he left years ago to study and work in Barcelona, ??moving away from his people, give him back a spark of memory and lucidity. What I have left of you speaks of women, grandmothers, mothers, and daughters, and the words that remained to be said. We helplessly attend the liturgy of a disease that inevitably drags us into oblivion. But in the process of loss, we also witness the liturgy of remembrance, a millennial liturgy that has names, that has body, that has weight and has light and that ends up offering us a portrait of three women of a generation of the same family.