A kind of confession, like a therapy.
I stand frozen inside in front of the door, beyond the door my Mother should have been waiting for me, I feel like knocking even though I know that nobody will answer me.
It was the beginning of the year 2023. I had been traveling for some time through a wild land of pain. How long? How did it start? And/But how was it for her?
My brother and I seemed to be trapped in a time loop.
We are here, we are next to you.
It's good.
We are both here.
Who are you? My Mother?
NO , you are my Mother.
Where is my Mother? If you are not my Mother, then why are you taking care of me ?
...
Where is Magda?
I am Magda.
All right /Okay, I see, but I want the real Magda.
What I wouldn't pass under silence would be that cry of her hands straining the air, which every time preceded a crisis. No Photo would capture that cry of her lovely hands weaving.
I am telling you that I 'm going to die today!
You are not…
You will see!
How could I handle her words? I only know one form of mourning, silent mourning, the mourning that simply comes naturally. But what am I going to do when the moment of horror comes? My Mother will leave in the Light, but me?
That "something else" happening in the middle of spring. I fell asleep focused on her noisy breathing. You 'll see, my Mother told me. You'll see - it happened that spring night and that's because she loved flowers but she also loved children and the elderly.
I stood next to her hoping to hear her loud breathing again, but it was not to be, so I called 112. Just in case, I asked I don't remember what they answered. I know there were words of encouragement, but also pieces of advice. In four months, my Mother would have turned one hundred years old, but the time had no more patience.
Then everything went bright white, like snow, but not the kind that melts on your hands, but the kind you can't touch, something that turned into a silent scream.
I am standing frozen in front of my door and beyond it I feel the anguish of knowing that we die completely alone, defeated by our own complications, while the rest of the world lives its life as it is without us.
The mourning began.
I find the keys in my back bag with great difficulty.
A new day is coming.