Mama, eternally young

Last November, I lost both of my parents within a week of each other. They died two days apart from different illnesses. First, my father passed away and two days later my mother. At the funeral, the priest said that despite their terrible loss, these two people were blessed because they had lived together for more than 60 years and died together. They were buried in the same grave.

You can imagine how confused, sad and angry a son can be in such a situation. Even when you are an adult, the loss of your parents puts you back in the position of a child, the helpless, defenseless human who has been abandoned by his parents for all time.

The sight of cousins, brothers, sisters, nieces, and friends standing behind my parents' coffin seemed surreal. To deal with the situation, the ego — in this case, me — uses all its inner self-protective powers. The result was that for a moment I thought it was all happening to someone else, and I was just there to support them.

Steadily optimistic influence

I was more than 30 years away from them, in different cities. The distance between us reduced the potential friction of daily contact, but gave our relationship the melancholy perspective that we had lost forever the luxury of having time together, of living and sharing things.

This distance, however, made our contact strange, and often activated on both sides the best memories of our former life together, especially of my own childhood and youth. That is, of the time when they too were young and passionate about making their own lives.

With my mother, as in most Mediterranean families in Southern Europe, I had the liveliest relationship. In this tradition, the mother always had a more pronounced role in guiding the children, especially the boys, and their development. When I was younger, this pushiness bothered me and made me become more distant when I felt she was trying to impose her wishes on me.

As time went on, things became more normal. Towards the end of her life — she was more emotional and sensitive — I began to retain the best elements of her influence on me, all that ultimately shaped me.

Look Forward

If I had to pick one trait that she instilled in me, it would be the ability to set goals, work hard, and not be disappointed by the problems that come with any human life.

I recall her reaction when, due to the economic crisis, the company where I had worked for many years went bankrupt, and I found myself out of work for a while.

She did not for a moment mourn, analyze, or lament the unpleasant event. “Look ahead! It's time to take the next step. That's life, move on,” I remember her telling me.

With that strength, I mustered the courage to find a new job, resumed my studies, and finished what I had left in the middle. I moved on and did what I really wanted in life. Anything that the routine of the old job wouldn't allow me to do.

The fact that I am now in a new job and pursuing my PhD in history is due in large part to her optimism, determination, and positive outlook on life. “Look forward” was always her admonition. A phrase that especially touches me because it comes from a person, a mother, who never managed to fulfil her own dreams and goals due to various difficulties and societal discrimination against women.

But instead of lamenting over the wreckage of her own unfulfilled dreams, she chose to inspire those around her, not just her children, to achieve their own.

It's no coincidence that she's been appearing more and more in my dreams lately. She is never sad, but smiling, always young too with her brown hair and bright eyes looking in a distant direction, with a calm, peaceful and tender manner.