It’s raining again, and Estonia is cooling like a sauna, like a fireplace. The rain is cold. Big drops fall from the balcony onto the window box that stayed empty this summer. Grandmother was too weak to grow flowers in the box as she had done every year, and she complained more and more. This summer she spent a couple of weeks in the countryside at her cousin’s, she even wrote us a letter from there, but then we got a message that she had fallen very ill. She was taken to the hospital in town, and they found she had a large intestinal cancer. She never recovered from surgery but lived some days in a high fever, in a mental twilight, speaking in a loud voice to her dead relatives as if they’d come to take her. Maybe they really had, maybe she saw something we couldn’t see. But we could never ask her about that.
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