In the summer of 1982, I was 19. My dads mom, my Baba, was dying, but us kids only knew that she was sick. It was a Saturday morning and like most Saturdays, my mom was working and my dad drove her to work. He would stay, order breakfast at a nearby cafe and then go for groceries and come home. On this day, knowing that his mom wouldn't be around much longer, he needed to go to the bank when it opened at 10:00 a.m., then come home and get me and we would both make the 30 mile trip to see Baba.
I stayed home while dad left with mom and meanwhile I was showering and getting ready to go. We had planned on leaving around 10:30 a.m., by the time dad was finished with the bank. I was all alone in the house and had started drying my hair. My bedroom door had been closed, but it opened by itself. I remember looking at the clock and thinking, yeesh, it's 10:01 a.m. and my dad has already done his banking and is back home. It didn't surprise me that dad would have opened the door, he could hear the blow dryer and knew I wouldn't hear his knock. Well, I stopped the dryer and waited, but there was nothing more behind the door. No one was there, dad wasn't home. Dad came home around 10:20 a.m. I didn't think anything more about what had happened. We drove to where my Baba was living. Baba was in the hospital but we went to her house first, since my aunt was in town. When we got to the house, my aunt asked if we had already been to the hospital. Dad said no. She said, Mom died at 10:00 a.m. this morning.
There's no doubt in my mind that she came, possibly looking for my dad, but she paid me a final visit. This is a cherished memory that I'll always keep.