By Alfred Peza / Iku Realized from this life, as one of the rare mother, that fate loved as much as her birthday on March 8. Although suffering from a growing number of illnesses and collections over the years, after 1990 the new house was built next to the town ring, so that the gates could always be kept open and the yard crowded.
He had just turned 76 and I grew up listening to him complain about health, systematically. The tension, the heart, the water lungs, the disc herniation, the overweight ... did not leave her alone. But she had found the remedy at birth. She wore a 360-degree smile that was eternally imprinted on all of her being, and her diseases were removed as if by magic. So, apparently, he lived longer than anyone else in the family's geological line.
But in recent days, as in a wheelchair as it had been for some time, there had been only one fear that was coming and eroding inside. At the hospital, staff were starting to focus more and more on patients who were looking for a case by case, to take care that they were not affected by Covid- 19. The older boy was no longer fast and fast. by car, so the old bicycle would go and rest, carrying on its back all its worldly necessities.
With natural innate innuendo, he was aware that the road to Paradise was already paved with no return. But she had whispered to her little girl, who was staring at her head night and day, that she had only one fear: That she would leave for her last apartment alone! After the death of my mother, she had been fanatically guarded, the relay of the biggest "belly of the house". So the responsibility of dignified escape seemed to him twice as high.
The little boy has long been an immigrant to Italy, where in recent years she had gone and, thanks to him, several times, for medical examinations. She connected with him on skype every day, but from there the hospitals were no longer as she remembered her last time. The children kept her away from the hard news because they could not tell her that there was no more room for the dead in the cemetery. In the churches, the masses were no longer with people, but only with pictures placed on their benches and chairs. That funeral machines could no longer cope with the influx, so military vehicles were overloaded to do the city's municipal work.
The last time in Albania that so many guns were seen in a single ceremony, it was after the tragedy of Otranto on March 28, 1997, that 81 people had left for Italy to escape the hell of antifaid riots in Vlora. And for this bridge to never produce such news again, it must now be interrupted at the height of the new war we are in, with the coronavirus that has affected a quarter of a million people worldwide and claimed over 11,000 human lives so far.
After the news of my aunt's departure, I got ready to send her son to Italy, one of Dritero Agolli's poetry verses, "Mother's Death": "Mother was reduced and all was wasted / became like a seagull. light / and one morning without the light yet dim / groaning and flying over the clouds! ” I wanted to share with him the advice of the older brother, who in spite of the pain of saving his wife, children and relatives in Albania, a trip that would more soothe the unkind soul, would add still further anxiety and worries about their future.
From Italy he wrote to me, that there is no greater pain for a man than that of losing a mother. But she herself would have loved today, when we should have followed her, so that we would not be all together. And after that, I was struck by images of funeral ceremonies reflected in the media from northern Italy, Tirana or elsewhere in Albania. The funeral machine is followed by a car of the closest family members and a priest or hoxha for the latest religious rituals.
When you watch the news as a viewer or post it as a journalist, you do not think that such situations apply to you, as long as it does not feel pain under your skin. My aunt was a regular Muslim believer, and apparently God loved her too, so she took him for a day. From upstairs where she will see us all tonight, she will smile at us, as she did throughout her life. Understanding and forgiving that we could not be there to shed double tears before her.
As soon as this cursed war of war is over, we will all come together once in a while and pluck out all the flowers of the yard that never left us to touch by hand, and fill the grave with roses from its anger. And after crying and laughing so hard at us as usual, we will be back in the backyard sharing the road and staying together all day, as she so longed for and never saw us for the last 30 years.
