Loss

Yesterday I visited  Hans’s grave with my family. Hans, my Dutch friend, was like a father to me. And not just for me as I found out a year ago at the funeral which was full of adult orphans. The collected chestnuts have created a heart and we put a candle in the middle. I wanted to cry, but I needed some silence for it. Therefore, my wife took Frida and Sven and I stayed there only with our oldest five years old Matilda. Tears were launched and I cried for long minutes. Why I lost Hans so early, I asked the year before when he died? Why so soon when he began to fill my aching heart with a kind fatherly love?

A year ago I could not find an answer. I knew that every loss brings something, but I was not able to find it. My eyes were too painful to see something new sprouting.

Matylda hold my hand and tried to comfort me.  She saw me crying for the first time. Her father, her beloved father, who in her eyes manages everything, fixes everything and is not afraid of anything. I told her that it is okay to cry. It’s good to cry when we lose someone we love.

I am glad that Matylda was with me. She should know that her dad may feel sore, that he does not have to be strong and happy every day. But I am also glad that she could be the grown up for a while. A daughter who soothes her father. A girl who gives back a piece of love and care to her parent.

Perhaps Matylda’s caring of me was the answer I was looking for so long. On one hand a loss, and on the other an metamorphosis of love from Hans through me into my beloved Matylda.

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