Death & Love story 1: “Every day”…

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Photo by Tobias Bjørkli from Pexels

He was here again. Ready to see her.

It was a promise he could not break.

“Daddy, will you come see me every day?” she asked.

“Yes my dear. I will be with you every day”, he answered.

The little kid jumped in joy.

And the dad burst into tears.

A huge hug.

He still feels her in his arms.

Waiting to hug here again…

He was very old now. Waiting to die.

Wanted to hug her one more time.

His feet couldn’t support his as he reached the place.

Neither could his heart.

“Daddy, will you come see me every day?” she asked.

“Yes my love”, he whispered as he fell on the grave.

And the last thing he could sense he did was smile.

Waiting to hug here again for one more time…

The last time…

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We all like to remember the first time we did something…

The first day in school.

Our first kiss.

Our first car.

The first day we went on a trip.

But life is not only about first times. Life is full of last times as well. And if the former include a promise and a window to the unknown, the latter contain the key to the door left closed behind you. And it is that key which you need to hold closely guarded while travelling in the dark forest of existence…

The last time you saw your friend.

The last day you slept in your old house.

The last kiss before a big separation.

The last time you sensed your grandmother’s touch.

These are the memories which define you. And if the promise held by the first times is what makes you touch God, the sadness held by those last moments is what makes you more human. Take a good care of these lasts moments. They are not just some memories. They are you.

 

One last spaghetti…

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He had just come back from the funeral. His mother had just died. She was his most beloved person. She had taken care of him for so many years, raised him, she… his eyes wet, started crying again. From a small child he had been pondering on the possibility (it was just a… possibility back then) of his parents dying. And whenever he thought about it, his mother always came and reassured him that everything will be OK… But today she wasn’t there. She would not be there anymore. Not now. Not ever again. And that “Never” really made his heart ache. It was that sense of security that he missed the most. A person who loved him so much that would do anything just to make him feel better. He felt good around her. Now he felt void.

With heavy feet he opened the door. Entered the lounge, then went slowly into the kitchen. He hadn’t eaten since the previous day. Since he heard the bad news… He thought eating was an insult to his mother. He could not put anything into his mouth after her death. But now biology came to overcome his will. He had to eat something. Mechanically and unwillingly he opened the fridge trying to find something editable. He opened the door and saw a plate of spaghetti. Tears started pouring from his eyes. Tears he couldn’t stop. It was the food his mother made for him yesterday just before she died. Ready as he liked it. He couldn’t even see the plate with his blurred eyes. Took it. Placed it on the table. Started eating it. Slowly. Each time he ate, he remembered of his mother preparing it. He cried even more. Every bite brought more sadness to his heart. The sauce. As he preferred it. With a lot of vinegar as he liked it. Another bite. And another. He kept on crying while finishing his food. She had even put extra chesses as she only knew he liked it. And another bite. The food was getting less and less. The last meal from his mother. He ate it but at the same time wanted to leave it as it is. It was the last thing he had from her. Another bite. Every time he felt so pleased from the excellent food, he also remembered of who prepared it and the pleasure went away instantly. Tears again. Mechanically he ate it all. When he was a kid, he would always ask for more. And she would – with all her love – give him more. Smiling.

He fell sleepy. Slowly he bent over the table and laid his head on it. His eyes closed and he dreamed of the only thing that would make his soul pleased. Another plate of spaghetti with cheese… And in his sleep, just for a fleeting moment, he smiled…

Spiros Kakos

02/2013 –  Athens, Greece

Grief support, coping with Death, Harmonia Philosophica…

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Most people are afraid of death. And this happens because they love life. But not one of them knows what is the nature of that thing he loves. And surely not one of them knows what is the nature of the thing he is afraid of… People give thousands of Euros to psychologists when the true answer lies in front of them. All they have to do is look for the Harmony in Philosophy… (see tag Death in Harmonia Philosophica blogspot portal or tag Death in this portal) The answer is that there is no answer because the questions are wrong. Give in to living here your Da-Sein… Let go of worries and grief related to wrongly-defined problems. If you are grieving for the death of a loved one, then you must have found the answer to all those hard problems that trouble philosophers for thousands of years. And don’t misunederstand me, but you don’t seem such a smart guy… (this applies to Spiros Kakos of the future too… trust me my friend, it is your self speaking…)