“Come Home, You don’t have a father anymore…”
Someone said to me that these were the words that I heard when my father died
First snow in my life. 3rd January 1997. I was six years old. First day of the second trimester of school. I don’t remember the school that day, I’ve never seen real snow, and I was delighted. It’s strange what a children’s mind can remember from a tragic day. Could all of them be from my mind or some of them edited by people that told me the story of that day?
My memories start when I arrived home, left my bag inside the house, and I went out to the snow to play. Even today, I can almost feel my frozen hands, nose, and feet from the snow. I was playing with bare hands, alone and happy. It was an unusual day indeed.
Since it was January, soon the light started to disappear — I didn’t know at that time that I would disappear too, my purest self. Darkness would surround me and love would conquer it all.
Since I was wet because of the snow, my mom’s stepmother called me, so I could dry myself by the fire. I don’t know many details from this part on. What I know is that I’ve heard my mom calling me from below the stairs — she was in the middle of the two bunch of stairs: one was on the side of my grandfather’s place and right across it was my home.
