Family portrait


Sometimes, me and my brother, we’ll go up on a hill, next to the forest alongside the road towards the city. From there, we’ll just look around us, everything quiet, everything green in summer, everything yellow in autumn. We’ll ocassionally play “next passing will be my future car”. Or second, third, from the left or right, etc. We’ll talk about what we had in, then, our raw minds.

He’ll make me laugh most of the time. I’ll laugh to tears. We always enjoyed a good laugh. We were naughty kids. I remember we were saying that God laughs at our jokes because He made us funny. He’s up there having a good laugh when He looks down to us.

We’ll look forward to see eachother ehenever we can, because we never lived together except later on, while at university. You have to know that there’s no man in this whole world that I love more than my brother. He’s the coolest, funniest and brightest brother anyone could wish fore. He turned out to be a loving husband and an extremely involved father. He’s the perfect combination.

If I think about it, all men in our clan are very dedicated to the family life. They’re all settled, responsible and above all great husbands. Women on the other side are a bit… the opposite. Women in our line had a share of turbulences, as I can see going down the line from my grandmother to me. Hopefully will not continue. We are a bit unsettled… a bit tormented… a bit missunderstood…

I used to talk to my grandmother and she used to share with me bits of her life and from her I learned to admit things, to open up, to share my sorrow. When I was upset she was hugging me and crying for me, with me, for her… ar all together. She was the best grandmother anyone could wish for. Uncommonly kind. Beautiful and caring. Worrying and feeling for everybody. An oasis of love when times get rough.

I lost a few good years fighting with my mom on the other side. I lost innocence in words and actions and it took me a long time to understand her. To truly understand her essence, my feelings towards her and to be wise enough to put myself in her shoes. I make myself believe that I managed to make it up to her in time, but I didn’t… I need to do more for her. I needed to do more for my grandmother. I thought I had time…

You’ll never know the time you have left next to someone.

I remember that new year. I celebrated it with my grandfather. My grandmother was hospitalized, almost unconscious. My grandfather went to sleep early. I took a glass of wine and I went out in the freezing cold. Sky full of stars. Full.

Firecrackers blasting around. I couldn’t cry. I can’t acknowledge terminal situations. There’s an unreal optimism that keeps fueling my hopes that everything will be fine in the end.

I kept on looking at the stars. It’s the first new year in my 18 years of existence when my grandmother was not with us. And I said to God “You don’t exist if You take her away!”

And He did. Seven days later she was gone. She was the first mother I knew, she was there when nobody else was, she felt the life inside me, the mind inside my head. She was a futuristic soul caught in the past. The level of understanding she had was simply amazing. She was a combinations of stars and flowers, she was my confidant and my strenght and she told me to “go see the world, get away from here”. And I did, grandma. I did. You should see the things I’ve seen, the people I’ve met. I remember you so well. There are things you’ll not be proud of, but I know you’ll understand me.

The day she died I was not at the hospital. My uncle called and told us to rush to the hospital. I reached there after an hour or two. I found her room and I opened the door. She opened her eyes. She saw me, she took a deep breath and there she was… gone. Then one more breat, deeper, when the soul leaves the body. And there I was, no reaction. My stupid mind couldn’t process what just happened. I went out and made a phone call.

I found her later on at the morgue where I had to dress her lifeless body. We took her home where I had to see her being embalmed, watched and then burried. And I still couldn’t cry. I cried later when I realized she’s never coming back and loneliness gets deeper. I lost my rock and I drifted away. I don’t even feel like home at home. I don’t belong there anymore.

I guess sad topics make the best writing. It’s too personal. I lay these words down here so I can remove them from my head.

It’s all love and late night reminiscences. Peace!

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