Thursday, August 13th, 2009 | Scriitor:

– Believe me, I recalled my own, the ones who “brought me into this world” and caused me some soul searching. I haven’t looked for something in particular, reading the notes from the crosses, but being here for the second time, why I still know some of them vivialy.
-You said second time, that means that the first time you were here was at the burial of my daughter. As far as you have seen, like in all graveyards, you can find in here tombs that are being taken care of, few are looking better, according the “descends” money, but most of the time according “the short memory” of the close ones, that got rid off some worry after they “put in dirt” their parents. According all this, what we still remember is that the most beautiful burial, if the term is not too improper for this kind of pain, was not of those who had high positions, power and fortunes. At the burial of those with crypt, is easy to understand that people came only because of the “obligations” they had towards those families, and few villagers spent their time remembering them, those who even after death built real residences. The main thing is that all this is in vane. Stones have never taken place and will never take the place of love. So, I don’t want to bother you to much with this, I just want to tell you that the burial of my daughter was as far as I know on the second place as far as we know from around here. But the most beautiful and painful burial was of a driver. It happened in a winter. I believe that day was the coldest in that time. The snow crunched as if it was one with the convoy. All hamlet’s man kind was behind the coffin, mourning alongside his family and coworkers. Those twenty cars that followed the convoy were endlessly honking and through this multitude of sounds, it seemed that the honk of his car was breaking through the lamentable sadness above all the other sounds, after that young man. A man as big as a fir, and the same soul, who in everyplace he has been through made himself noticed, conspicuous, gathered away, appreciated and even loved. None, from here or from somewhere else, mentioned having any kind of troubles and he wouldn’t give the help needed, he would have helped and supported you, in any way he could. And what large shoulders he used to have… He was the kind of man from the world and made for the world. He was good at everything; nothing was strange enough for him … from what was human. Well … this man had fallen down as if he was stricken by lightning.

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