11.28.2006

like the deserts miss the rain

i hate goodbyes. i hate them even more than burning the shit out of one of my fingers by accidentally coming in contact with an unbelievably hot metal spoon. lucky for me, today i got both.

the spoon can be explained easily:

melancholy + cravings for comfort food + deep fried potatoes (complete with curry mayo) + hot oil laden slotted spoon + misguided hand = son of a bitch

but the fries were still good and although i did have to hold frozen items on the wound for a couple of hours, due to my inability to face the pain cold turkey, i am still alive with only a blister and some residual numbness to remind me of the folly.

the goodbye though, well that is another story. i have been giving some thought to how i would talk about it here, or if i would at all and to be honest i never really came to a conclusion. i am going to miss her, silvija that is or baka to many of you. i am going to miss her way more than i ever would have imagined. i know that if cohen could understand her absence he would miss her just as terribly as me, but for this year i may have to go it alone. saying i am going to miss her sort of sounds flat and silly in this context though. i suppose it is what it is, but of course there is more.

all the deeply personal and introspective conversations, even if they were in a language foreign and uncertain to her. the seeing so much of myself in her words and her actions and her kindness. all the sadness and regret and lessons about life and love which she chose to share with me. to teach me. there was sharing of recipes, her amazing gnocchi sauce and my soups. there was the eating of sushi for the first time and her attempt at chopsticks, then fingers, then a fork. afternoon lattes and the watching of er (or emergency room as she calls it). and there was laughter. so much laughter. and some tears, both of joy and of sadness.

this morning she told me about her mother, she has been in ill health the last few years and her mind is starting to go. "she isn't the same" she said, "but one thing about her that has never changed is that whenever i leave to go back home from a visit she cries". i knew what was coming next, the tears were already there as she was telling, "today i understand the tears", she said. "today i understand how that feels".

i didn't have the right words to tell her how much i like her, appreciate her. love her. even if i did they probably would have gotten lost in translation. i can only hope that it is one of those things that is understood. a month ago i was worried that it would be too difficult to have someone here with me, a disruption too great. i was nervous and anxious and scared. i was wrong.

4 comments:

Anonymous said...

Hey how about a little tissue warning before this post. It is wonderful that you were able to develope such a wonderful relationship with Silvija, I am sure she will miss you as much as will her. Do you think she would ever consider moving across the globe?
((((( HUGS ))))) Im sure you could use them...

m said...

I agree with Tara. Perhaps you could have a little icon warning beside the titles: 0, 1, 2, or 3, boxes of Kleenex? I think your readership would appreciate it.

laisha said...

what a wonderful tribute to silvija. I can see a little film montage flash by in my mind - swinging cohen in the park, feeding birds at the sanctuary, cooking together in the steam-warm kitchen, seeing the miniature village twinkle, putting up the xmas tree, the great cohen knit off, watching the snow fall, lattes in hands, all those moments with cohen & silvija...& I wasn't even there!

Butterfly said...

Some women can be in our lives every day and barely strike a spark. Others have a more temporary presence, that is so poignant that it leaves a lifelong impression on our hearts.