Prost!

7th March 2020 - 21:34 

“One day, I will write poems about it. 

 But first, I must survive it” 

I had two fathers! And they are both most probably having a beer at this very moment discussing how much of a trouble it was to be in that position. 

One says: “- When Ylie was 8, he blown the tires of my car playing rocket science” While the other goes: “- Last Year, he almost burned down the kitchen after making dinner.” Then, they smile to each other and go: - Prost! 

One has passed away from Parkinson's in Germany a month and a half ago, and the other passed away last night from a heart attack at work in Brazil. 

His funeral is taking place at this very moment, while I write this text in my kitchen, seating on the floor next to some supermarket flowers and his picture lighted up by some candles. The only possible ”ritualistic” thing I could make to say my good bye. We choose as a family to bury the body instead to have it cremated, and in a country of 365 summer days this has to be done in the next 48 hours. 

So, 24 hours ago I had a father, and today, not anymore. 

I kept saying he “passed away” and his “funeral” until now, because it seems lighter. To use the words “died” and “burial” brings it to a level of heaviness that I guess I didn’t want to face so far. 

I was all over the place. I am still all over the place. I’ve decided to go back to writing today after 8 years without a blog, because I’ve been through so much lately that I remember something that makes more sense than ever: Some people write to be read, some people write to survive. A plataform like Instagram (fast consumption and limited characters), is no longer enough for me to share my thoughts and my feelings. I needed another escape. For someone that feels so much as I do, all the time. 

There's this huge ”attention-seeking” judgment on people that are as open as I am on social media. Specially when it comes to death.

I came back to write because to lost my dad yesterday left me with a huge whole that I'm not knowing how to process, how to fill it up. Cause I am not being able to think clearly and if I don't let it out I will simply suffocate. 

The same death, that haven't respect my last year's Christmas and holidays was the one that didn't respect a friend's night out last night. I was dragged from Anna’s apartment with my cousins call asking me ”- Are you with someone? Is there a chair or something you can take a seat?” 

The news that I won't see my father again and that his funeral would be today afternoon already, let me so shocked on the outside of her apartment that I lost my senses for the first time in my life. I didn't know anymore for couple seconds where I was and with who I was. I've asked Bella to drive me home and left everyone without saying a word. And I hadn't notice it I’ve done that. 

Bella was with me until Michael came to pick me up and in the meanwhile, I was able to reach my mom on the phone and that was when I got destroyed. 

I've started believing last night that our parents have some kind of vital energy over us. Because 

now, I fell like some part of me is gone. While talking to my mom on the phone and listening to her unbelievable strong words of wisdom to comfort me while I was literally wipping on the floor of the TSV made me whole again for the moment.  

My father and I had our ups and downs. He was not the best father in the world during my first 18 years of life, but after that, we were able to put our differences aside. I was able to forgive him. Not only me, but also my brothers and my mom. He has only gave us what he had received himself. People reproduce what they see when growing up. My father did the same. 

A man from the countryside who grew up in a farm field, In the sugar industry. Who saw farmers in his family killing each other for space in the market in the 60’s. Who learned through violence from my grandparents that he needed to be a ”man” and to do not take anything from anyone, ended up developing an abusive and violent behaviour for years. How else could the story be? So, his reproduction of  behavior  have sadly caused an awful impact in our family, reflected in a hard time for me and my brother's growing up and in our childhood, and in some scars to our mother. And to himself. 

But that was not what he really was. That was only a way of living that he have wrongly learned as self protection. He learned self destruction as a way of self defense. Usually what happens to people that grow up in fear. 

It took him years, but he eventually unlearned this behaviour. Changed his way of thinking and became a good father. Sadly, he have never forgiven himself for the dark times. 

My father was a sweet man, that have his emotions hidden almost all the time to look stronger than he was. Or by fearing rejection. As if showing who we really are was a sign of weakness. To be honest I know nothing more brave  than to show yourself completely to other people. 

I was for many times able to break his walls. Sometimes I came to him saying ”Old man, I love you!” and he could never say it back, but I know he did love me. He loved us. Cause the way he reacted to that, and his eyes.... the swollen tears... every single time. And because of what he has done in the last years. Only love would go this far. Some people are gonna love you in secret. Without saying a word. I’ve learned that’s also love, that’s also fine. 

My father did not know how to receive love. Didn't think he was worth of being loved. And although he became a very passionate man for the last 10 years, hugging and kissing us, laying down and cuddling us on the sofa when we all got together on Sundays, he never knew how to express it in words. That was clear on Christmas times when he almost always shut himself in the room right after dinner and went to bed so early on New Year’s Eve to avoid the good wishes to each other in the family. He felt unworthy. 

He could never get over the damage he caused us in the early years of our family, even when we ourselves got through it all and forgave him not only with words. But fully embraced him back home. 

Not only of hard days my childhood was made of course. I remember the fresh air in the beach on our Saturdays, remember him taking us to walks and travels, remember him cutting us watermelon and pineapples (family obsession), I remember him making me steaks and talking all night long about his dreams for our future. Giving  me school money for lunch on Mondays, making my chocolate milk when I woke up at their house, and driving me to my grandma on weekends. Helping me out with my first business. 

I remember him coming back from work everyday with a supermarket bag, remember him making his coffee and using two spoons of sugar. I remember my dad and me on the same garden net and I remember him placing our mattress on the floor to watch movies, remember me and my brothers getting together to attack him with pillows and blankets and remember he embarrassing my mom in front of us telling us about the time they were  dating. Remember he cleaning the house from bottom to top, sweating his body out and swimming from the shores into open sea (almost as a suicidal would do). I remember seeing him coming back and me breathing relieved. 

Remember him strengthening me up 6 years ago when I have been through the worst time of my life saying ”- We know who you are my son, we are gonna be here for you!”, remember him buying my first ticket to the United States and paying for my visa. Remember him teaching me about watches, his biggest passion in life  (which I never cared), and most important than all: Remember when he met one of my boyfriends also with a watch as a gift and the sentence ”- You take care of my son or I will kill you”, which was let’s say too much. Remember he being okay with the fact that I am gay. Even after growing up listening that he would kill a gay son. 

I've cried my eyes out since last night. Have hit the bottom and my heart hurts so much. It took me long but I've learned how to love this man. Unconditionally, for who he is! How to admire him, how to be glad to have him as my father. Cause in the end, I realize there's no mistakes in God’s plans. 

I believe in eternity. Like Markus wrote me this morning: ”we're all gonna be reunited one day!” And this hope warms my heart while writing this text on this Saturday where it feels like life lost its sense, for the second time this year. Don’t really know what to do. Don’t really know what to say. And to don’t forget, I write.