Maria Dolores Pinot Nin, beloved by her Abuelito

Introduction

This article is about Maria Dolores Pinot Nin, beloved by her Abuelito, a grandfather’s tribute to his granddaughter. This post was a bit emotional for me when I started writing it. I was not lucky enough to have my grandparents in my life for long. My paternal grandfather died before I was born, and there are no photographs of him. All I have is a photo of his grave from 1952. His wife, my grandmother, died in 1988, and I never took the opportunity to ask her questions about our family history.

My maternal grandmother, who raised me for a few years, passed away when I was seven. I have some memories of her, but they are few. My longest surviving paternal grandfather died on my birthday in 1995. He would have likely told me a lot about his family history, but I moved and missed the opportunity to interview him. Questions left unanswered by the same people who could have shared so much. History lost forever.

I would have loved to receive a personal letter written by my grandparents. But, instead, they just left me with memories that I will always treasure as long as I live. When I was thirty-three, my paternal great-aunt wrote me a letter when I was diagnosed with cancer and given one year to live (fortunately, the doctor’s prognosis was wrong). One line in the letter that I would like to share is when she wrote, “I will always be the grandmother you lost when you were young; I am always here for you.”

When you read this poem, think of your grandparents, and I am sure a beautiful memory will come to you. That is them visiting and letting us know they are still with us.

A photo of a girl

I came across a photo of this adorable girl, along with a poem dedicated by her maternal grandfather, Mr. Antolíno Nin Martinez. It especially resonated with me when I started researching her genealogy, and tragically I discovered that she died at the age of thirty from cancer in 1956. Her mother also died of cancer in 1947, and her maternal grandmother died after giving birth at the age of 33 years, one tragedy after another. When diagnosed, I was thirty-three years old, and my maternal grandmother died of cancer at the age of 54. So I felt I could genuinely relate to her story.

Her grandfather loved her, as you can tell by the poem she wrote him when she was one year old. It is a beautiful tribute from a grandfather to a granddaughter. If you are a grandparent, I am sure you can relate to that love she felt when he hugged his first grandchild for the first time.