Vienna, December 21, 1999

I arrived from Mexico yesterday. I went to the nursing home to see Omama today. It’s Sunday. When I opened the door I saw her sitting in the shadows, her hair uncombed. She asked me, Who are you? Then she looked at my coat and smiled. I liked using that coat a lot, she said. I sat down beside her. She closed her eyes, as if asleep.

The nurses came in to lay her down. When I said good-bye she said: I want to go home.

These last years Omama has been losing her memory as if she were leaving it in my hands to tell the story.