1249 days ago
One year today since I became a landed immigrant, setting foot on Canadian soil. It's so weird, isn't it? I hoped the time would stop so I can catch my breath, get used to the idea of my father's departure...sometimes I surprise myself thinking about calling or writing to him, then I remember he won't be there to answer.
So...about my trip to Romania: got there for a cheaper price thanks to Swiss Airlines, rather to the general manager here, who used to work in Romania and lost his father too. Cried a lot...I found out on Monday 5pm, got on the plane Tuesday 5pm, arrived in Bucharest on Wednesday around noon. Got home from work Tuesday at 2:30, went out at 3:30 - it never happened before. I don't have too many black clothes, I hate black...so I travelled light.
My mother and her brother were waiting for me at the airport - such a sunny day, I dropped my suitcase, saw my sister and went to the cemetery - bought 10 beautiful purple dalias and a candle on the way. Met my aunt and my father's widow, my cousin...I was never too close to my father's family, it's rather a polite relationship...in a white chapel, in the heat, he was resting...all covered in make up, his full lips so much thiner, so quiet...didn't look like him at all. Lots of flowers, unknown people coming and going. There was a Requiem in the evening, at a small French church - there were many people I know: my grandma's sister, her son, friends...my best friend - Liza, came to stand by me, she knew my father too since we were 16, I was next to her when her father died.
Confusion, couldn't accept it and face it...the funeral next day (in a catholic cemetery, as he was baptised as Greek-Catholic - pretty common in Transylvania, where many Romanians converted to Catholicism under the Austro-Hungarians) was on TV, the Romanian priest here in Montreal saw me on TV via satellite, at the cemetery - what a small ridiculous world, isn't it?
My younger brother (different mother) was there too: a handsome 18 years old in a black shirt and pants - we felt closer than ever. And TV stars, prominent people of the Romanian cultural life, the team that used to work with him at the TV cooking (culinary anthropology ?) show, simple people too, that only saw my father on TV. Eventually I convinced my mother to come also - for me if not for him, she divorced 29 years ago. She was the first. His 2nd wife could not come, as she lives in Switzerland, but her mother came. His 3rd wife came with flowers, lit a candle and we had a little chat. She's an actress of good reputation by now, with a bit of European fame. My dear Liza was there again. The customary post-funeral feast took place in a nice restaurant, by a lake, I sit down with my brother and I realized only him and his latest wife - Ileana, really loved my father the way he was, so unacceptable to many of us. They didn't expect anything from him, and were happy any time he was around.
I decided to sleep at his place that night, with Ileana and my father's sister - Anca. We talked about him, remembered things and I took his books and started reading in a loud voice. I realized I am so similar to him, in so many ways, from other people's stories. I also found out he was very glad any time he was getting an e-mail from me, he would call up his wife and read it to her. There are so many questions left un-answered and so many words unspoken. Between us there was love and there was silence, bridges we never crossed, and that's what makes me most sad.
The day after I went to the sea side, with Liza, stayed there until Sunday evening - about 48 hours. Had delicious fish, with polenta and garlic sauce, swam in my dear Black Sea (no matter how turqoise the Caribbean is, I still love the Black Sea). We were 3 women, but another friend of mine was already there, with her husband, baby and dog. Saturday I turned 31, we had a nice dinner on the shore, my twin friends came over too - a nice warm bunch of people, I felt loved and protected. I went for a walk by myself before that, with my diary...thought about many things, wanted to cover the 5 km until the next village, but rain stopped me.
The sea was as good as always, soothing me, talking to me in her 1000 whispers and moans, giving me waves and foam to wash up my troubled soul.
Met another friend there on Sunday...life is still good to me.
Back to Bucharest - legal problems, legal issues, too much pressure, too soon, left a power of attorney, waiting for the lawyers to sort it out.
I suddenly grew up, got responsibilities...to be continued.