Category: journal

With every passing year, the memory of that day fades away… But somehow, still, there are things I can’t forget.

My cousin screaming SHE IS NOT BREATHING!! The smell, oh my God that smell. The smell of the body giving up, the smell of death… And that image, the image of what could have been my aunt. But she looked so different. I’m still amazed how different she looked a few days later at the funeral. Then she looked like herself, how I knew her.

Death is a natural part of life, we should be familiar with it, deal with it better.

But is it really? Cancer is not natural is it? The way it ruins your body and mind. Pumping your body with so many chemicals to kill it that they end up killing your internal organs is not natural is it? Feeling so exhausted and worrying you may not make it another day is not natural is it?

A couple of weeks before she died, I sent her flowers hoping to make her smile, and they did. That’s the last image I had of her alive, an image still painful to share. Living abroad when your family goes through something so horrible is immensely painful. And as tough as it is to think about it, you never know when it’ll be the last time you see them.

I’ve read somewhere that grief doesn’t really go away. It’s always there, you just learn to live with it. That’s why sometimes all those feelings come back as strong as they were that day. 

But this how we will always remember her.

I’m grateful my mum had such a great eldest sister and my cousins such a lovely mother figure. That’s what my mum said to me when I asked her earlier.

(My eldest sister. A rare, pure soul. Always gave her heart for everyone else. My grandma Anna, my mum and my sister Anna have always been my role models in life. They may have died but for me they are alive in my mind and in my heart. I lived some unforgettable, blessed moments with them.

She (my sister) was with me, holding my hand when I was in pain, giving birth to my children. She was always so hospitable. 

The end of her life, tough and painful. I couldn’t watch her suffer so much…)

I’m grateful she brought to live and raised two of my favourite and dearest loved ones, Andrea and Georgia. My cousin, Georgia posted this beautiful poem of a famous modern poet. It’s as if she wrote it herself for her mum…

Να φωνάξω ξανά: Μάνα μου!

« Μάνα μου…κόρη μου» ήταν οι τελευταίες σου λέξεις σ’ εμένα,

όταν αισθάνθηκες ότι η ζωή σ’ εγκαταλείπει σιγά – σιγά.

Μέσα σ’ αυτές τις λέξεις φώλιασε όλη σου η αγάπη.

Δυο λέξεις – δυο ιδιότητες, εκ διαμέτρου αντίθετες κι όμως,

σε κάποιες στιγμές τόσο όμοιες, σαν τις όψεις του ίδιου νομίσματος.

Τις έχω κρατήσει μέσα μου, κερί αναμμένο στο μανουάλι της θύμησής σου,

μπροστά από τα εικονίσματα τόσων αναμνήσεων.

Ναός η ύπαρξή σου κι η καρδιά σου ένας διάφανος θόλος

που έβλεπε κατευθείαν στον Θεό.

Εκεί σε φαντάζομαι τώρα, ψηλά αλλά όχι απόμακρα.

Πανταχού παρούσα να παρακολουθείς τις πτώσεις και τις ανόδους μου,

τις θλίψεις και τις χαρές μου, τα λάθη και τις ευστοχίες μου.

Σε φαντάζομαι και σου μιλάω τις ώρες που τα πάντα σωπαίνουν.

Σε φωνάζω χωρίς στόμα, σε αγγίζω χωρίς χέρια, σε θρηνώ χωρίς λυγμούς.

Γιατί, μάνα μου, δεν είμαι πια η ίδια χωρίς εσένα.

Μεγάλωσα απότομα από τότε που σ’ έχασα.

Ξεριζώθηκα σαν το δέντρο που το θερίζει ο βοριάς.

Έμεινα άοπλος στρατιώτης στο πεδίο της μάχης,

που τον εγκατέλειψαν οι σύντροφοί του.

Ένας στρατιώτης σακατεμένος και κρυμμένος στα χαρακώματα

να περιμένει την επίθεση του εχθρού.

Τα διδάγματά σου, όμως, οι γαλουχίες σου, η αστείρευτη αγάπη

που με ανέθρεψε με ατσάλωσαν.

Μου έδωσαν τελικά θάρρος να συνεχίσω, να μην λιποψυχώ.

Να βγω έξω και να συνεχίσω να δίνω τις μάχες μου.

Έγινα εγώ η σοφή που συμβουλεύει, η αγκαλιά που παρηγορεί,

η αισιοδοξία που παροτρύνει, το άγρυπνο μάτι που περιφρουρεί.

Κι ας κρύβω μέσα μου το παιδί που ορφάνεψε.

Το παιδί που κλαίει, όταν χτυπάει στην αλάνα της ζωής

κι αποζητά το μητρικό χάδι και την ζεστή αγκαλιά.

Συνεχίζω να ζω κι ας μην έχω πια την ευλογία να φωνάξω:

«Mάνα μου» και να σε δω να εμφανίζεσαι στην πόρτα.

~Σαντίνα Δεναξά~

( To shout again: Mum! 

My daughter… your last words to me, when you felt that your life was slowly slipping away. You put your love into those few words.  

I kept those words inside me, as a candle lit in your memory. Your existence, a church and your heart a dome looking straight to God. That’s where I imagine you now. Up in the sky, but not far. 

Always here, watching my rise and fall, my happy and sad moments, my mistakes and my successes. I think of you and talk to you at the most silent moments. I talk to you with no mouth, I touch you with no arms, I grieve for you with no tears. 

Because, mum, I’m not the same without you. I grew up suddenly, the moment you died. I’m like an uprooted tree, battered in the wind. A soldier without their gun, in the battlefield, abandoned by their fellow soldiers. A wounded soldier, hidden, waiting for the enemy to attack.

But your nurture, your advice, your endless love, made me stronger. They gave me strength to keep going, to never give up. 

I was now the wise one to advise others, the one to console, the optimistic one, the watchful eye that protects. 

Although, inside, I’m still a child without a mother, a child who cries when she gets hurt and is looking for their mum’s embrace. 

I keep on living without the blessing of you showing up at the door when I shout ‘Mum’.)

I’m grateful my sister Stella had such a wonderful godmother. I loved the special bond they always had. I asked my sister for some words. I burst into tears when reading her reply. I’ve never heard of this before.

-Δηλαδη να γραψω που διαβαζαμε μαζι και εκαμε υπομονη ωσπου να μαθω την γ*****η την ιστορια; Και που με έπιανε κάθε φορά που ξεκινούσε η χρονιά να μου πει καλή αρχή και να διαβάζω? Και να προσεχω τον εαυτο μου γιατι αν δεν τον προσεχουμε δεν θα μας προσεχει.

Και όταν εγεννήθηκε η Ειρήνη είπε μου να προσέχω τη βαφτιστικιά μου και ειπα της πως όσο καλή νούνα είχα, τόσο καλή νούνα θα’μαι για την Ειρήνη.

Και όταν μιλούσαμε για τα φαγια της είπε μου να μου δείξει και είπα της πως όσες φορές και να μου δείξει δεν θα είναι ίδια με τα δικά της. Και λέει μου, γιατί; Και λέω της έχει ένα συστατικό που βάλει που δεν το έχει κανένας.  Και λέει μου μα τι;  Και είπα της η αγάπη που βάλει στο φαί της όταν το φτιάχνει.

(She used to sit with me and help me with my homework. She was so patient, especially when it came to f****ing history. She used to call me at the beginning of every single school year to wish me well and remind me to be a good student.

She used to say to me: Take care of yourself, because if you don’t take care of yourself, it won’t take care of you.

When Irini was born she told me to take care of my goddaughter and I told her I’ll be as good godmother as she’s been to me.

When we used to chat about her cooking, she offered to show me how to make some of her recipes and I told her, she can teach me as many times as she likes but it will never taste the same as her food. And she asked me, Why?

Because you add an ingredient that nobody else has. What’s that? She asked.

The love you put into your cooking…)

I’m grateful I had Anna as my aunt for 29 years, I’ll always cherish the memories of the big parties and relaxed summer evenings on her terrace, her delicious food, her love, her intelligence, her sweetness and kindness.

And although I’d rather she was still alive, I’m grateful of what I learned and how much I’ve changed because of her death. Appreciate the little things, love and care for myself, do what makes me happy. I’ve become a stronger, more resilient human.

Αιωνία σου η μνήμη θεία μου καλή μου.

Ελένη