We think that we build our lives on axioms. We think that there is an order to our life, that is as unshakable as laws of physics. We think that people around us and our relationships are constant.
But then, an event comes that makes our reality crumble. We face our very own, personal apocalypse.
When sky is falling, it is hard to grab the pieces and put them back together. It is impossible in fact. Tragedy strikes, just like that, it comes uninvited.
And you realize, with dread; nothing will be the same again.
Bones will heal, yet scars will remain.
When chaos comes crashing into our lives, we need to be able to perceive a deeper order. We need to find a meaning behind suffering. In such moments, doubt and faith that reside in our heart, tangle themselves in an unforgiving combat.
And which wolf will win?, asks the man in ancient parable. The one that you keep feeding…
My mother died two weeks ago.
A person that gave me life is gone. It is something hard to comprehend. She was always there, but she is not here anymore.
One of the most fundamental axioms of my reality was shattered within a couple of days. It took that one phone call from my Father, these three words; “Mum is dead” to send me spinning out of the comfortable, careless reality I have known. I found myself somewhere else.
Instead of my Mum’s Presence, there was a void and I felt like I was drowning in an abyss.
Memories would swarm into my mind.
I remember we would sit with my Mum in the kitchen, same spots every time, my Mum beside the window, me beside the fridge (easier to reach for a snack). We would talk about all our family, all our common friends, their lives, latest developments.
We could talk like that for hours, until we completely depleted the family/friends list.
Then I would ask “Do you have anything more interesting to say?” and she would laugh at that old joke over and over again.
I remember my Mum reading books to her grandsons, my two little boys. Them cuddling to her, as she was the base upon which they were building the fundaments of their lives. She taught them the language of love, through her Great Presence, before they knew how to speak.
I remember last Christmas, when my Mother, would look at the battlefield that our living room has become; huge Christmas tree, pieces of gift packages torn, toys scattered everywhere, every single inch of space occupied by Her loved ones; my Family, my Brothers, my Father, my Aunt, and Uncle. My Mum’s eyes had that peace in them. Although my Mum looked tired, her happy eyes were saying; the big dream of having an “Italian sized family Christmas” finally came to be.
None of this will ever come back. It all came to a horrible, sudden stop. These colorful pictures were torn by one image that carved its way through, to reside in my memories for the rest of my life;
Me and My Father, in an empty chapel, above an opened coffin with my Mother’s body. As I made the last blessing, the sign of the cross on my Mum’s cold forehead I faced a choice.
I could focus on what would never be, and what was taken away from us.
All the plans we made, all the hopes we had, all the possibilities my Family and my Children would have if my Mum would be still around. I could focus on some relatives that hurt my Mum by their selfish actions, and possibly even contributed to her rapid decline.
I could focus on that, and become even more enraged, and eventually bitter.
Or I could focus on the Light. The Light that is the Legacy of Love, my Mother left behind. The crowds came to pay their respects, (the Church was full, people had to stand as there were no sitting spots left) is one of the best Testimonies to that legacy.
My Mother had a good life, we had a great, healthy relationship, she taught me a lot. She taught me enough, so in such moments, I would be ready not only to stand on my feet but be a pillar for those who need my support.
So choice is simple; be bitter or be grateful.
I believe it is time for me now to set my eyes for the future and keep carrying the Torch I was given.
We think that we build our lives on axioms.
But in truth; life is a flow. What is constant about it is the motion.
We are all running somewhere. And so we need to face the reality, that people that are close to us, get lost on the way.
But it is fine.
As long as we are heading in the same direction, we will eventually meet again.
Blue Moon Station 