By the year 1957, my grandmother Yiayia's great dream had finally come to fruition. Nicely settled in San Jose, California, the children were thriving. Chrysanthy - as a valued court clerk; Anastasia and Tasso - as proud college students at San Jose State University and the first of our family to attend college. Although Papou still dabbled in restaurant work, he mostly puttered around their new little pink home with the red door.
It seemed at long last, the years of toiling in Greek fields and restaurant kitchens had paid off. And so a period of rejuvenation bloomed with blessings of new Greek Orthodox friends and frequent family sojourns to the beach. The nearby Santa Cruz shores seemed so wonderfully familiar that with a sigh, Papou would marvel, "Doesn't it look just like Greece?" But mostly, the former Greek soldier and the one time peasant girl found their greatest contentment simply strolling the neighborhood hand in hand.
And so one spring morning, Papou grabbed his hat. Yiayia locked the door. And they ventured out together as they'd done so many times before. But when they reached Walnut Grove Street, Papou suffered a massive heart attack and collapsed. Frantic, Yiayia performed CPR as someone called for help--but ultimately it was too late. On that quiet, sunny morning of May 28th,1957, just four blocks from home, Papou died cradled in my grandmother's arms. When my father later arrived at the hospital and saw a weeping Yiayia clutching Papou's hat, he knew in that moment that his father was gone.
A few days later the family bid a final farewell to their beloved Papa. As the funeral service concluded, Yiayia kissed Papou one last time - crying his name over and over. In that profound moment, my father truly understood the depth of their love: a devotion that had sustained them through the years of hardship and sacrifice they'd faced together in Greece and America. But now a widow at the age of 47, a heartbroken Yiayia would have to adapt and to endure on her own.
For the rest of her life, she would never again set foot on Walnut Grove Street. Not one step. And in future letters to her mother in Greece, she would never reveal that she'd become a widow. Each letter described the Conomos household as if Papou was still alive. Always putting others first, she simply feared her beloved mother would die of grief and worry if she were to learn the truth.
But out of deep respect for Papou, she would continue to send money to his unappreciative, often unkind family in Greece. And in a final act of love, she would resolve to never marry again, though many suitors vied for her hand. To this very day ~ after 59 long, lonely years ~ Yiayia has remained eternally and faithfully devoted to the memory of my Papou. Such is the life.