Processing…

It’s been a couple of weeks since you left.
And the truth is — I’ve been lying to myself.

I cry quietly, while trying not to cry at all.
I long for you, yet whisper to myself,
“Let her go… Let her fly.”
It’s a contradiction I carry in my chest like a fragile flame — flickering between aching and acceptance.

This feeling… I can’t name it.
Neither my heart nor my body knows what to do with it.
How do you begin to move forward after losing your world?
How do you unlearn the comfort of your mother’s presence?
There’s no map for this place. No guidebook.
And no heartbreak before has ever come close to this kind of hollow.

So my body took over.
It spoke in the only language it knew: pain.
A terrible cold. A herniated disk. Inflammation blooming from the silence I’ve been trying to contain.
I’ve been poked and scanned, tested and told — “You need to calm down.”
As if grief ever listens to such simple instructions.

I try. God knows I try.
Some days I breathe deeply. Other days, I just try to survive.
I’ve started to ease off the medication —
not because I’m better, but because I want to believe I can be.

I’ve noticed that when I stop spiraling, when I let myself breathe,
when I allow the sun to touch my skin and the wind to brush through my hair —
things soften. Even just for a moment.

But when I take on too much —
grief, fear, guilt, memory —
my body cries for me.
And I begin to understand…
this isn’t just about staying strong.
It’s about choosing life, again and again, even when it hurts.

At night, the silence stretches.
I stay up late, whispering “I’m alright” into the dark,
even when I know I’m not.
You’re harder to see than most, Mom.
But I still search for your face in dreams that don’t always come.

And yet… you are still my most cherished memory.

I haven’t found the courage to listen to our songs.
They’re too full of you —
your laughter, your warmth, your light.
The melodies might shatter me.
So I keep them tucked away, like unopened letters I’m not ready to read.

And so, I begin again. Slowly.
One deep breath at a time.
A walk through the trees.
A moment of soft laughter — not quite real yet,
but close enough to remind me what life used to feel like.

I’m learning how to live without you.
I hate that sentence.
But I whisper it anyway, with trembling lips.

Still, the questions echo inside me:
How do I love again?
How do I trust again?

I don’t know the answers yet.
But I’m listening for them.
And maybe someday, they’ll come like you used to —
quietly, gently, without warning.

So if you’re watching me from wherever you are,
please know I’m not pushing you away.
I’m just… finding my way back.
Learning how to walk again with this invisible weight.
Learning how to carry you with me, not behind me.
I’m not lost, just… healing.

And I love you —
always.

Because we have to let go

Time has flown away since the last post. Everything appeared to vanish so soon in this quarantine that I don’t even know when it occurred and most importantly, if all of it was just a bad dream.

I was telling you in the last post that my cousin, Costel has passed away recently. His death was more of a shock to me because I could not believe it was true. 

Things just happened in such a rush and very unexpectedly, and the worst part is that I could not do anything to prevent it or at least, lead him on his last road.

He was eventually brought back from the hospital and buried yesterday, without any funeral services. There were only a handful of people that led him to his grave, way too soon than anyone can expect.

I was just put in the face with the harsh reality, and had to accept it. That night when I heard the news I could not sleep and stayed awake until 6 AM in the morning. I kept thinking about the death and my parents, and family, and felt bad that I was not able to protect them.

What worries me more, is that a hospital near my parent’s house holds 369 infected persons and patients (with Covid-19), some of the affected ones being neighbors and close friends of the family.

This virus keeps us away from the ones that we love and sometimes is just so hard to bear and to wait, and do nothing. We get to see the life happening in front of our eyes, but don’t have the power to interfere and to change things. It breaks my heart when I realize that staying apart is the best way we can protect them. I was never good at staying apart.

A few pieces of advice

At this moment, everything that I can do, that WE can do is to stay apart and pray. God is the only one that can help us get through these moments, and it’s important to realize that we are not alone.

And if our family members, friends, and colleagues are being affected by the virus and even taken away, let’s be thankful and appreciate the moments that we spent together.

Let’s realize that the persons that have died, are not dead in our heart, and they will only pass away if we forget them. We cannot lose what we have enjoyed deeply once, because all that we love deeply becomes a part of us.

It’s important to understand that it’s not the length of life that matters, but the depth of it. Rumi said that „Goodbyes are only for those who love with their eyes. Because for those who love with heart and soul there is no such thing as separation.”

Be brave, be strong

Let’s allow our lives to reflect the faith that we have in God. Fear nothing and pray about everything. We often forget to pray and say thank you when good happens, but isn’t God with us when good things happen as well?

It’s time to be courageous in a situation like this when everyone around us feels lost. Let’s be willing to push through fear, in spite of feeling it so heavy. Step up, and lead ourselves, let’s be brave because we can.

We fail to realize that strength doesn’t come from winning, but from struggles and hardships that we go through in this life. When dark times come, like the pandemic, let’s not give up. Let’s be strong, trust the process and God, because every battle prepares us for the next war.

Unexpected sadness

You know that moment when you are going on with your life normally? When even if quarantined, you are trying to keep yourself positive and attempting to keep happy and motivated, having good thoughts? And then the world simply falls on your back?

That’s how I feel now.

There are some people in our family circle, that we don’t regularly speak with, some people that chose to stay hidden and live in their small little universe. Those people that deep down you love, and they know it but saying it out loud will not make any difference, for you or them.

But anyway, you are happy knowing that they are fine and feel comforted at the thought that nothing bad is going to happen to them. Until the unexpected happens.

Memories are all the we have

They were the best two friends I could ask for, Costel and Elena. Sons of my mother’s brother, Costica, they were the two special members of my childhood. We did almost everything together, from playing in the yard to pick the apples in the autumn. We even did mud pies together.

Unfortunately, my uncle was alone as his wife left him for another man and the two kids that resulted from their short love remained with him. So, he struggled, as he could to raise the two children, Costel and Elena on his own.

Life was not easy with my uncle as he struggled as he could to work and to bring money on the table. We lived in the same courtyard, but in different houses and always tried our best to help them as we could.

There were good times when my uncle managed to find a nice job and he was happy and brought joy to the kids. But then, there were also the worst moments when he lost the job and he was mean and most of the time scattered the anger on his kids.

And they, Costel and Elena could not do anything. They just sat in a corner of the room with tears in their eyes waiting for their father to calm down and for better times to come. When he was too angry he used to raise the voice at them and even beat them out.

My cousins had a tragic childhood that fortunately for me, I can’t relate to, as my parents were kind and understanding with me. Until 8 years old I grew up with them and shared joy and sorrow together, by comforting one another when bad moments arrived.

And then, after the age of 8 my father decided to move out in our own home. It was a new journey for us, but unfortunately a storm for the cousins. In time, my parents used to invite them to our new home but they could only arrive for a short time, as the uncle found out and banned them from coming to us.

In the beginning, it was hard to imagine a childhood without them, being my best buddies and basically, the two familiar figures that I grew up with. I missed them a lot after that and tried to find new friends.

I could indeed, identify new friends in the meantime but they were not like them. Their kindness and sincerity were hard to find, and real friends don’t just appear out of the blue.

In time though, things changed a lot, I did for sure. And time flew away so fast that I could not even think. Costel and Elena finished school, unfortunately only the first mandatory classes because nobody was able to support them fully.

Elena got married and now she is happy at her home with 3 kids. Costel, unfortunately in his case the situation is different. He ended up performing the heavy works that his body could not sustain and because of the depression and sorrow from his father became an alcoholic.

The sad reality

Last year, on the same day, my uncle died. Today, his son Costel, died as well.
I have just received the bad news from my family. But it’s hard to process it and to think about it, because he was young, only 24. His friends found him dead in the house without any traces or evidence. Then the cops arrived and an investigation is currently conducted.

We don’t know yet if its the Virus or if it’s the other health issues that Costel managed to somehow get during his short lifetime. But I feel sad that I cannot be with him on his last journey as only 8 persons are allowed to go to the funeral, the situation being very strict with the lockdown and everything.

I am still trying to process the information and cannot believe that this happened. He was a good guy and always helped out persons in need, always being there when asked to.

I hope that God will take care of him in heaven and that he will be more at peace than here, on earth, where he had to struggle with his life. Rest in peace, dear soul! 😥

(Image Source – Unsplash,
Gabriel)

The Remembrance of the good done those we have loved is the only consolation when we have lost them.” – Demoustier

Saturday funeral

If you attend funerals long enough, one after another you get to understand that they all have the same structures and details, more or less depending on the tradition and customs.

People from all the places coming and leaving to visit for the last time a person that once used to be someone great, someone, of value. They all cry and appear affected in the front of the harsh reality that stole another person from this earth.

But the person does not react in any way, as the soul is long gone, leaving the cold, rough body behind without any expression. You get to see the empty body, the clothes, the house and every single thing that he left behind.

Only the sky is turbid, as the soul is feeling sorry for leaving the place where he was born, where he was raised, where he learned to love and at the end, where he died. The wind is angry and the degrees decrease in the thermometer.

The road to the church is long enough to make you feel the cold weather as the cold embraces you all over. The quick stops, the priest’s prayers and his last bridges on this world are all a part of the last ritual.

At the end after long-awaited prayers, tears and the last goodbye, we arrive at the last place, delivering the person to the place we will all go, in a wooden coffin becoming one-off with the earth.

The irony is that no matter how much that person struggled in life he did not take anything material with him. All he had was the clothes on him and a wooden cross that will become in time nothing.

The sadness, sorrow, and tears are for the moment, and they don’t last forever. As people are meant to move on and take care of their souls, paying attention to the cross that they have to bear, being focused on their sins and their short future.

…………………………………………………………………………

For life is just a journey and we are only passengers. We remain with the good deeds done over this life, with the smiles we offered, with the kind words spoken. Make sure you will fill your bucket with the right „things” because, at the end of the journey, the material things disappear.

(Image Source – Pixabay)

Unde s-au dus, unde-au apus…/ Where did they go, where did they disappear…

Citeam acum cateva secunde articolul unei bloggerite talentate pe care imi place sa o citesc, Poteci de Dor.

Nu stiu de ce, dar mi-a starnit niste emotii atat de intense si triste incat nici lacrimile nu-mi pot exprima in cuvinte ceea ce simt. Cert este ca s-au dus. Bunicii.

Nu-i mai pot gasi, oricat de mult as vrea sa ii caut, nu mai sunt acolo. Inauntrul meu s-a aprins un foc atat de puternic, incat nu pot sa il sting, arde mocnit.

Amintiri din copilarie de la bunici

Vreau sa ma rog de parinti sa ma mai lase la bunici. Vreau sa stau uitata o vara intreaga la acele persoane dragi, mai vreau sa stau cu ei.

Vreau sa ii regasesc la poarta, stand pe banca din lemn putred, vreau sa le vad zambetul ridat de pe chip si sclipirea din ochi.

Vreau sa o vad pe bunica, firava si slabuta, dar cu sufletul plin de emotii si afectiune, vreau sa o strang in brate cu putere si sa ii spun ca mi-e dor.

Vreau sa stau la povesti cu ei, cu dragii mei bunici, vreau sa imi mai spuna intamplari. Vreau ca bunicul sa relateze glume crude si vechi, sa imi povesteasca amintiri din tinerete, sa radem impreuna.

Vreau sa merg cu bunica in bucataria de vara, sa facem mamaliguta cu tochitura si ochiuri. Vreau sa ma mai invete inca o data cum sa fac mamaliguta, vreau sa gresesc si sa o vad razand.

Vreau sa ii cant melodii vechi si sa stam impreuna, pe banca de langa soba, vreau sa facem scrijele arse.

Vreau sa mai mergem impreuna la adunat de fan, vreau sa greblu si sa aduc doua fire de fan in furca. Vreau sa ma mai certe odata, vreau sa ma mai invete lucruri.

Vreau sa stam impreuna, obositi de soare si truda la umbra merilor batrani din gradina, sa bem apa insetati, sa ne tragem sufletul si sa muncim din nou.

Desi vreau, acum nu se mai poate. Au trecut 8-10 ani de cand s-au dus, dragii de ei. Intai bunica si apoi bunicul. S-au dus in zile ploioase si reci, intr-un cimitir alaturi de alte suflete planse de familii, s-au dus de tot.

Acum, la bunici nu mai e la fel. Banca de la poarta e goala, locul este ocupat de vant si de zapada ce cade necontenit peste amintirea lor. Casa este pustie, si nu le mai aud glasul bunicilor, nici macar mirosul lor nu mai este prezent.

Chiar si astazi, le pastrez vie amintirea in suflet. Viata ma poarta prin atatea locuri si atatea simtiri incat uneori am impresia ca neglijez absenta lor. Pe moment. Si apoi viata ma aduce in unele situatii cand ii vreau alaturi, cand imi este prea dor de ei.

In finalul articolului concluzionez ca in sufletul meu, bunicii inca sunt acolo. Ecoul dragostei lor se reflecta in gandurile mele, in cuvintele mele, in inima mea. Nu va voi uita niciodata, suflete dragi!

English version

I read a few seconds ago the post of a talented blogger I love to read, Missing Paths.

I do not know why, but it has stirred up some emotions so intense and sad that no tears can express in my words what I feel. The fapt that they’ve died. My Grandparents.

I can not find them anymore, no matter how much I want to look for them, they’re not there anymore. Inside me is a fire so strong that I can not quench it, and it burns smoldering.

                                            Childhood memories from grandparents

I want to ask parents to leave me to my grandparents. I want to be forgotten a whole entire summer for those loved ones, I still want to stay with them.

I want to find them at the gate, standing on the rotten wood bench, I want to see their wrinkled smile and shine.

I want to see my grandmother, poor and weak, but with her soul full of emotion and affection, I want to hold her tightly in my arms and tell her that I miss her.

I want to stay with them, with my dear grandparents, I want to tell them more. I want my grandfather to tell old and cruel jokes, to tell me memories of youth, to laugh together.

I want to go with my grandmother in the summer kitchen, to make polenta, stake and eggs. I want to learn once more how to make the polenta, I want to make mistakes and see her laughing.

I want to sing old songs and stay together on the bank beside the stove, I want to make grilled potatoes.

I want to go together at hay activities, I want to rake the field and bring two hay threads on the hook. I want them to argue with me again, I want to learn more.

I want to stay together, tired of the sun and toil in the shade of the old trees in the garden, to drink water, to pull our souls and work again.

Though I want it, it is no longer possible. It’s been 8-10 years since they were gone, dear ones. First your grandmother and then your grandfather. They went on rainy and cold days, in a cemetery with other family-friendly souls, they went all the way.

Now, at grandparents is not the same. The bank at the gate is empty, the place is occupied by the wind and snow falling constantly over their memory. The house is deserted, and I can not hear my grandmother’s voice, not even their smell anymore.

Even today, I keep them alive in the soul. Life takes me through so many places and feelings that sometimes I have the impression of neglecting their absence. Sometimes. And then life brings me in some situations when I want them both with me, when I miss them so much.

At the end of the article I conclude that in my soul, grandparents are still there. The echo of their love is reflected in my thoughts, in my words, in my heart. I will never forget you, dear souls!

(Unsplash Source)