“A woman who buries her husband is called a widow; a man left without a wife, a widower. A child without parents is an orphan. For parents who are left behind by a child who left too soon, there is no word… and there shouldn’t be one. That’s how awful the loss is ”- it’s an approximate quote from the movie I love so much that I wish I were blessed with the grace of writing the script – Demolition. I then found the quote on the Internet as being from the book An Orphan’s Tale.
After all, it doesn’t even matter who said it first… but it remained so deeply embedded in me that these days when a man dear to me and many others left us unjustly early, it echoed in my head every moment I was near his parents. It was hard for me to look them in the eye, for fear of disturbing their privacy and for fear of filling myself, in addition to my pain, with this pain there is no word for.
I chose not to be a parent, and I always wondered what parents were made of. They must be made of something special that they can carry so much. When the child is on his way, a magic layer is probably added to the parents around their heart so that it does not crack every time something happens to their child.
At the same time, a young woman in her 60s, whom we met recently, told us: “People who think too much don’t have children anymore. Stop thinking so much! ”
He was 30 years old. He was a child. A charming man, whose eyes were laughing and his whole soul seemed to open. A man who struck me with his sincerity, warmth, zest for life, and hard work. A man with vision, who followed his dream, who built so much, not so much for himself, but more for those around him, for this country, for a noble purpose. Some time ago, when I asked a few dozen people why they work there, I received the same answer: his name. He was the binder. And the engine. A man who wanted to do so much, so fast. Now we are left behind, but the binder remains the same. Plus, the dream we will carry on.
A blood vessel. A thread. That’s how much a life hangs from. There is nothing to understand, and any question remains unanswered.
I’m reminding myself. And I’m telling you too. Next time you drive like a madman because you are in a hurry or your vein swells in traffic, slow down, laugh, turn up the music and sing! It’s not the end of the earth. When you struggle in front of a report in the middle of the night, slap yourself, laugh, and shut it down! It’s not the end of the earth. Next time you have a presentation and die of fear and anxiety, go to the massage and sauna and put your feet up! It’s not the end of the earth. Next time you resign, you lose your job or have no rent or installment money, move in with your parents or friends for a while, laugh, and start over! It’s not the end of the earth. The next time you suffer because he left you, cheated on you, or whatever…. Do what you have to do to get over it and move on! It’s not the end of the earth.
At the wake, we cried and laughed, telling stories about him… our tradition. A friend of another nationality was astonished by the fact we were laughing at the funeral. It’s good that he wasn’t in the country-side, where the old women tie the dead man’s hand with a thread and move it in the middle of the night to scare you then make you laugh; if your heart doesn’t stop. Old wise people know that death is also life. That laughing doesn’t mean it’s disrespectful or that your soul doesn’t hurt. Old people know that death is intertwined with life, that this is the natural cycle of life, although sometimes it is unnatural and unfairly early.
I think I’m already old.
Since last year, somehow, death does not scare me as much as before. When you are afraid of death, you are afraid of life. Live it to the fullest and live it responsibly towards you, your dreams, and the people who raised you and who will not be defined by any word if they are left behind. Tick-tock!
