start writing again after a summer break, a sort of vacation that he took the mirror. In truth, the mirror has continued to show pictures and stimulating, presenting topics to write about. Somehow, then, break me, I am taking. Perhaps because the arguments that the mirror showed me I have appeared unattractive, not very "attractive" or rather weak in terms of power "to entertain any reader from leisure and entertainment that summer offers.
There is one image (and thus an argument) that the mirror shows me periodically. E 'but an image and a theme that I've never had the power to propose and publish on the web. A matter of confidence, desire to preserve something of the deeply intimate.
I refer to the memory of my father and the last moments of his life, the moments of discovery of the disease that has led me on.
Two were the facts that I have, however, later persuaded to share these feelings with other:
- the three weeks spent in close and constant contact with my daughter, who allowed me to observe and think deeply;
- l 'Having heard a song that made me think hard about my father, relieving the pain in those last tragic times that I had still standing.
In other words, if I could say there are two facts, one is the reason that prompts me to write the post: the love of my father and my daughter and then to the memory of a wonderful man, and joy for the new life that has been supported and merged with mine. In short, both of these things I would like to share with you.
not easy to explain how it feels when you lose a parent, who has not lived this experience tragic, it is not easy to explain, to those who still do not have children, what changes and how it becomes your life and when it is born next to us there is a child.
not want to appear presumptuous, but I believe that certain things can be imagined, but they do not capture all aspects and for those who lived them, are always blurred the boundaries of certain human events.
My father died of cancer. Lung cancer. Recently I came home, finished his military service. My father had been hospitalized for several days in hospital for tests, having complained of some pain in the side. We were told that the results there would be a few days and in the meantime, my father had been discharged. I remember the day when they would release the reports, I decided to go to the hospital first of all, too impatient to know the diagnosis. I left the job, took the bus, I arrived at the hospital and spoke with the doctor, who told me what it was: an incurable illness. I can not tell you about those moments, but I can only tell you that I decided to return home on foot, some good mile, but I did marching. I felt I had to pull out something in me, to avoid exploitation or other ways to expel the worst storm that was unleashed in me. The thing I remember good is that, come closer to home, I crossed my father's car, which stopped. He drove my brother, my father was standing behind and there was my mother. I approached the window and I do not know if we can get good at pretending, I asked, quietly, where they were going. My father was to respond with a feeble voice and a face drawn, from which shone full concern. He said, "I got a call from the hospital. I have to stay overnight. I know that things are not going well." I tried and now I still feel an unspeakable torment, but holding me I said, "but come on, if you are hospitalized and why you should care. Now I come home and soon I'm coming down to the hospital." The tears came down as soon as the car moved on, and could not stop a river that could not find bank.
not tell you the year and a half that my family has experienced since then, but I want to write the last time I saw my father alive.
I went to visit him in hospital. For the duration of the disease, my father was home. Unique brackets day hospital for treatment. He was admitted only for the last days, in order to better assist not having adequate resources at home. The last day I was with him in the afternoon. We talked of many things: the labor, he sent me the Hobby (fisheries), of married life started recently bought a new car (the second of my life, before I had helped him to buy it). Then it was evening and I told him that I had to go. His words were "Go quiet I'm fine." I told him "See you tomorrow" and he smiled at me.
E 'this is why I did not want then to see him dead in his coffin. The next morning, my brother called me and told me that Dad had brought home, because they were the last moments, and my father had told him that he did not want to stay in hospital. I then said that just arrived at home, had wanted to go to bed and there he had lost consciousness.
When I arrived, he was dead. When they asked me if I wanted to see him, I said "no". Not out of cowardice, but because I wanted to preserve the last image of my father, saying "Go quiet I'm fine" and his smile. I have never regretted this choice. When I look back at that time, I see my father alive, that tells me to go to life,
If I'd seen in the coffin, I'm sure I kept that last image. Instead I see my father alive who smiles at me and I say "tomorrow" and I can only hope that, one time, there will be that tomorrow when I can see him live, without ever seeing him dead.
Over the years I missed. In idle moments, like when I go fishing and I regret how many times we could go together, in the most important moments, when faced with choices that life puts you, I had the joy and the need to ask for advice, that when I 'I was alive are always blissful feeling of independent and personally responsible for the choices made, feeling man. And instead, in these moments, suddenly you feel alone, so as to discover that really the only and sole responsibility for its destiny, what you choose to do.
There is a recurring dream that I do after those tragic days. I know that my father is ill, doctors there have said, but they said that nothing will happen, we all live with the disease, my father will live. A great joy, as much as the disappointment I feel in the wake.
do not know if I was able to express feelings, to tell the memories. I do not know if I was able to unravel a tangled skein of feelings in this day and I feel today in his memory.
This summer I heard a song and it was like finding the right words, the synthesis of the unconscious dialogue I have with my father when I think of what he tells me. The song "The Rainbow" by Celentano, Mogol text.
I'll give you some text and then if you want to listen to the music video:
I am left so suddenly
I have not had time to greet
short time but even shorter
if there is a light that pierces your heart
The rainbow is my message of love can
Maybe one day you will be able to tap
with the colors you can delete
the most humiliating and depressing squalor
I have become if the sunset in the evening
and I speak as leaves in April
And live my life in every sincere voice
and live with birds singing and subtle
my speech more beautiful and more dense
expressed by silence his sense
I did not realize how many things
like shooting stars that are clear
and I must say that is an endless pleasure
making these heavy bags
I miss you so very dear friend
and many things are left to say
always listens to real music and only
and always try to understand if you can.
Every time I saw a rainbow, after those days I thought of my father, who has little time for the next important people, the fleeting nature of those moments, as fleeting and beautiful is the rainbow
We get to the section "my daughter". I have seen it grow over the years. The question is not lies in a plywood pain with joy, but that with her I saw my father alive.
First of all because I discovered while I was amazed at seeing expressions, body postures typical of my father.
Then, above all, because I lived and live those feelings that surely my father tried to see live and raise his children. Living
a child is seeing in the mirror, her taste for life, in times now past, and otherwise lost of his childhood. It 'a kind of rebirth, a flash back to how it was that you can experience, but in a conscious way. Children are tyrants, they ask if not all, so much for himself. If you are not upset, you certainly change life, the "self". Sometimes you think you want to throw in the towel, not to do it, but just a moment, a gesture, a word and they want to live them forever.
The regret is knowing what my father would have enjoyed the ability to see, in living it. every day. He who had no son, he would madly in love with this woman.
is hard for me to explain what a daughter, a dad.
My wife and I have not wanted to know the sex before she was born. Who asked me what I wanted, I answered honestly, m not interested. But I must confess that years ago, back when we had decided to have a child to and we even thought, I dreamed twice a newborn sitting on the ground and stretched his arms towards me to get caught. In both cases, the baby was a girl. A daughter for a father is already a woman, you feel it, so it behaves towards you, it has all the potential of a woman and unknowingly uses it and carries it out. See a woman raising, trying to imagine teenage and young at some point, feel the image of what will be.
There are times when you feel that your daughter is watching you and gets an idea, cut out the image of the man who will search for life, and plays the princess and the prince asks you to do.
There is one question that my daughter asked me several times since he was about two years. It is not a question, but the search for confirmation of a hope and a desire to see disappear fear: "Dad is it true that you do not get old?". Since the first time that I was taken aback, surprised by the question, I always answered that I did not grow old. Recently, one day, told me that I had told a lie, because he saw that her grandmother (my mother) and grandfather (my father who did not know) you are aged and then I'll do the same. I replied that this was the Bugle, because his grandparents have never grown old for me were always the one that mom and dad of a boy named Julian.
Even for her I will always be the daddy that I am now, that image a man who is in her, even when man will be replaced by one in the flesh, husband or partner for life that is, what you choose. I do not remember exactly the words with which I explained the idea, but I know that he understood, because he smiled and his face came back clear.
are too, even if the thought of this woman that I grow, I was reminded of another song of Celentano "The Time Goes" (for those who do not remember you get the video).
I say thanks to those who came to read this far and so wanted to share these feelings with me. Maybe someone will think that flaunt it in public so private and intimate thoughts is wrong. I also thought about this and shame I had never written this post. But I explained the facts and reasons that today I have to believe otherwise and so I think you have also honored the memory of my father, the man to whom I owe much of what I am today. Those who appreciate me, in this sense will also appreciate that he did not know my father.
There is one image (and thus an argument) that the mirror shows me periodically. E 'but an image and a theme that I've never had the power to propose and publish on the web. A matter of confidence, desire to preserve something of the deeply intimate.
I refer to the memory of my father and the last moments of his life, the moments of discovery of the disease that has led me on.
Two were the facts that I have, however, later persuaded to share these feelings with other:
- the three weeks spent in close and constant contact with my daughter, who allowed me to observe and think deeply;
- l 'Having heard a song that made me think hard about my father, relieving the pain in those last tragic times that I had still standing.
In other words, if I could say there are two facts, one is the reason that prompts me to write the post: the love of my father and my daughter and then to the memory of a wonderful man, and joy for the new life that has been supported and merged with mine. In short, both of these things I would like to share with you.
not easy to explain how it feels when you lose a parent, who has not lived this experience tragic, it is not easy to explain, to those who still do not have children, what changes and how it becomes your life and when it is born next to us there is a child.
not want to appear presumptuous, but I believe that certain things can be imagined, but they do not capture all aspects and for those who lived them, are always blurred the boundaries of certain human events.
My father died of cancer. Lung cancer. Recently I came home, finished his military service. My father had been hospitalized for several days in hospital for tests, having complained of some pain in the side. We were told that the results there would be a few days and in the meantime, my father had been discharged. I remember the day when they would release the reports, I decided to go to the hospital first of all, too impatient to know the diagnosis. I left the job, took the bus, I arrived at the hospital and spoke with the doctor, who told me what it was: an incurable illness. I can not tell you about those moments, but I can only tell you that I decided to return home on foot, some good mile, but I did marching. I felt I had to pull out something in me, to avoid exploitation or other ways to expel the worst storm that was unleashed in me. The thing I remember good is that, come closer to home, I crossed my father's car, which stopped. He drove my brother, my father was standing behind and there was my mother. I approached the window and I do not know if we can get good at pretending, I asked, quietly, where they were going. My father was to respond with a feeble voice and a face drawn, from which shone full concern. He said, "I got a call from the hospital. I have to stay overnight. I know that things are not going well." I tried and now I still feel an unspeakable torment, but holding me I said, "but come on, if you are hospitalized and why you should care. Now I come home and soon I'm coming down to the hospital." The tears came down as soon as the car moved on, and could not stop a river that could not find bank.
not tell you the year and a half that my family has experienced since then, but I want to write the last time I saw my father alive.
I went to visit him in hospital. For the duration of the disease, my father was home. Unique brackets day hospital for treatment. He was admitted only for the last days, in order to better assist not having adequate resources at home. The last day I was with him in the afternoon. We talked of many things: the labor, he sent me the Hobby (fisheries), of married life started recently bought a new car (the second of my life, before I had helped him to buy it). Then it was evening and I told him that I had to go. His words were "Go quiet I'm fine." I told him "See you tomorrow" and he smiled at me.
E 'this is why I did not want then to see him dead in his coffin. The next morning, my brother called me and told me that Dad had brought home, because they were the last moments, and my father had told him that he did not want to stay in hospital. I then said that just arrived at home, had wanted to go to bed and there he had lost consciousness.
When I arrived, he was dead. When they asked me if I wanted to see him, I said "no". Not out of cowardice, but because I wanted to preserve the last image of my father, saying "Go quiet I'm fine" and his smile. I have never regretted this choice. When I look back at that time, I see my father alive, that tells me to go to life,
If I'd seen in the coffin, I'm sure I kept that last image. Instead I see my father alive who smiles at me and I say "tomorrow" and I can only hope that, one time, there will be that tomorrow when I can see him live, without ever seeing him dead.
Over the years I missed. In idle moments, like when I go fishing and I regret how many times we could go together, in the most important moments, when faced with choices that life puts you, I had the joy and the need to ask for advice, that when I 'I was alive are always blissful feeling of independent and personally responsible for the choices made, feeling man. And instead, in these moments, suddenly you feel alone, so as to discover that really the only and sole responsibility for its destiny, what you choose to do.
There is a recurring dream that I do after those tragic days. I know that my father is ill, doctors there have said, but they said that nothing will happen, we all live with the disease, my father will live. A great joy, as much as the disappointment I feel in the wake.
do not know if I was able to express feelings, to tell the memories. I do not know if I was able to unravel a tangled skein of feelings in this day and I feel today in his memory.
This summer I heard a song and it was like finding the right words, the synthesis of the unconscious dialogue I have with my father when I think of what he tells me. The song "The Rainbow" by Celentano, Mogol text.
I'll give you some text and then if you want to listen to the music video:
I am left so suddenly
I have not had time to greet
short time but even shorter
if there is a light that pierces your heart
The rainbow is my message of love can
Maybe one day you will be able to tap
with the colors you can delete
the most humiliating and depressing squalor
I have become if the sunset in the evening
and I speak as leaves in April
And live my life in every sincere voice
and live with birds singing and subtle
my speech more beautiful and more dense
expressed by silence his sense
I did not realize how many things
like shooting stars that are clear
and I must say that is an endless pleasure
making these heavy bags
I miss you so very dear friend
and many things are left to say
always listens to real music and only
and always try to understand if you can.
Every time I saw a rainbow, after those days I thought of my father, who has little time for the next important people, the fleeting nature of those moments, as fleeting and beautiful is the rainbow
We get to the section "my daughter". I have seen it grow over the years. The question is not lies in a plywood pain with joy, but that with her I saw my father alive.
First of all because I discovered while I was amazed at seeing expressions, body postures typical of my father.
Then, above all, because I lived and live those feelings that surely my father tried to see live and raise his children. Living
a child is seeing in the mirror, her taste for life, in times now past, and otherwise lost of his childhood. It 'a kind of rebirth, a flash back to how it was that you can experience, but in a conscious way. Children are tyrants, they ask if not all, so much for himself. If you are not upset, you certainly change life, the "self". Sometimes you think you want to throw in the towel, not to do it, but just a moment, a gesture, a word and they want to live them forever.
The regret is knowing what my father would have enjoyed the ability to see, in living it. every day. He who had no son, he would madly in love with this woman.
is hard for me to explain what a daughter, a dad.
My wife and I have not wanted to know the sex before she was born. Who asked me what I wanted, I answered honestly, m not interested. But I must confess that years ago, back when we had decided to have a child to and we even thought, I dreamed twice a newborn sitting on the ground and stretched his arms towards me to get caught. In both cases, the baby was a girl. A daughter for a father is already a woman, you feel it, so it behaves towards you, it has all the potential of a woman and unknowingly uses it and carries it out. See a woman raising, trying to imagine teenage and young at some point, feel the image of what will be.
There are times when you feel that your daughter is watching you and gets an idea, cut out the image of the man who will search for life, and plays the princess and the prince asks you to do.
There is one question that my daughter asked me several times since he was about two years. It is not a question, but the search for confirmation of a hope and a desire to see disappear fear: "Dad is it true that you do not get old?". Since the first time that I was taken aback, surprised by the question, I always answered that I did not grow old. Recently, one day, told me that I had told a lie, because he saw that her grandmother (my mother) and grandfather (my father who did not know) you are aged and then I'll do the same. I replied that this was the Bugle, because his grandparents have never grown old for me were always the one that mom and dad of a boy named Julian.
Even for her I will always be the daddy that I am now, that image a man who is in her, even when man will be replaced by one in the flesh, husband or partner for life that is, what you choose. I do not remember exactly the words with which I explained the idea, but I know that he understood, because he smiled and his face came back clear.
are too, even if the thought of this woman that I grow, I was reminded of another song of Celentano "The Time Goes" (for those who do not remember you get the video).
I say thanks to those who came to read this far and so wanted to share these feelings with me. Maybe someone will think that flaunt it in public so private and intimate thoughts is wrong. I also thought about this and shame I had never written this post. But I explained the facts and reasons that today I have to believe otherwise and so I think you have also honored the memory of my father, the man to whom I owe much of what I am today. Those who appreciate me, in this sense will also appreciate that he did not know my father.
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