What is the key to enter.
Death comes in a rush and then stops right beside you. It smiles, almost, whispering something that you can't bear to hear, and then vanishes.
And then you find yourself on the phone, with your aunt telling you that the son of friends died last night. And your mom's not here, and you dad's not either, so you have to get up in the morning, get dressed all in black - black pants, black t.shirt and sandals that really didn't match - and go over to their place because they're family and you really want to be close to them right now.
His father's the one who saw me when I first got back to Italy, six months old, in my mom's arms. She's my godmother, and they really care for me and have always been there for me if I needed anything. And their son, Maurizio, is dead. He was affected by this genetic thing, similar to polio, and for the past 15 years he's been sick. I saw him recently and he was in bed and couldn't speak nor move or eat properly anymore and had to be assisted at all times.
They're marvelous people. They are just so sweet that it broke my heart to see them so composed and almost resigned, as if they were trying to cope with it in the best of ways, because he really ended all his suffering now.
Zio Luciano told me that he'll always be there for me, and I was hugging him hard and couldn't fight back the tears. Barbara and Robera, their two daugthers, kept me company and it almost seemed like they were trying to console me and not the other way around.
In the end I went away around one o'clock and went to the chuch for the funeral. It was yesterday, and now it's over. Over.
0 comments:
Post a Comment