Xaara Novack Entering through the door, my senses were hit by that smell. As of the walls were made of your skin. And I was breathing its scent. Although sick, you were full of life and kindness.
Bitter-sweet, like apples fallen on dry soil when autumn debuts. And the chairs with their backrests that gathered around my shoulders. Forgetting to feel uncomfortable, because your words made me travel a long way. Fleeting words, which I cannot remember today. Even if I wanted to. They were not only sentences. You engraved them in my soul with tears, little salty droplets. I taste them each time I want to reach you again.
My first card I got, my first steps towards young life. You managed to live enough to be by my side. I keep it, more precious than any religious objects that my family keeps. Those have no importance. They never smiled to me like you did. They never held my hand or scolded me when I broke your clock. That golden clock with a white holder. I still see it now, in front of my eyes.
And the glass cabinet where the black and white TV sat. We only watched when there was a program on. With embroidery on it, classic communist style, with leaves and flowers as a model.
The bed next to the wall, where you sat lying all the time… never being able to get up. I didn’t understand how it is to be helpless or powerless. You meant the whole world, though you were one person. In that world, I fit in too.
CADASIL: To my beloved aunt Elisabeth
I don’t fit any longer.
I am in a different world, where you are not.
The cure, is yet to be discovered.
If times would return…
I’d like to reach my hand
and take again, the warm pie
from your hand.
To get full by eating,
sour soup
with sauerkraut juice
Saying that you cooked it
When you couldn’t even move
I haven’t sufficiently eaten
with you
And when mom pulled my hand
to reach you faster
I wish I felt the cold air,
over my face
To have it as memory
Not the warmth
You left behind,
because it hurts.
And when I will close my eyes
I will be still, waiting
for the day
when you will walk
with slow and sure steps,
towards me.
This is written for my aunt, Elisabeth. She suffered from CADASIL, a degenerative neurological disease that has no cure.
CADASIL: Dragă mătuşă Elisabeta
Nu mai încap demult.
Sunt în altă lume, unde tu nu mai eşti.
Iar leacul, e încă nedescoperit.
De s-ar întoarce ceasul…
aş vrea să întind mâna
şi să iau iar plăcinta caldă
din mâna ta.
Să mă satur mâncând,
Şi să-mi dai ciorbă acrită
Cu zeamă de varză
Minţindu-mă că e gătită,
De tine
Căci n-am mâncat suficient înainte,
Cu tine
Şi când mă trăgea mama
De mână, să ajungem
La tine
Să fi simţit aerul rece
Pe care aş fi vrut să-l am azi
amintire,
Nu căldura ce ai lăsat-o
în urmă,
pentru că doare.
Iar când am să închid ochii
Am să stau în loc să aştept
Ziua în care
ai să mergi cu paşi siguri,
Spre mine.
Această postare este scrisă în memoria mătușii mele, Elisabeta. A suferit de CADASIL, o boală neuro-degenerativă. La ora actuală nu există un tratament pentru această boală.
