Sunt prea b\u0103tr\u00e2n\u0103 pentru a face fa\u0163\u0103 mor\u0163ii. (M\u0103 refer la moartea unei persoane iubite.)<\/p>\n
C\u00e2nd eram copil, \u015fi murea c\u00e2te cineva \u00een jurul meu, era de neimaginat c\u0103 nu-i voi mai vedea chipul, c\u0103 nu-i voi mai auzi glumele, c\u0103 nu. Una din cele mai traumatizante mor\u0163i timpurii a fost moartea unui prieten minunat de familie, care mi-a sesizat pofta de polemic\u0103 – vie \u00een mine de c\u00e2nd eram mic copil, \u015fi care m\u0103 provoca mereu cu afirma\u0163ii gen: “Nu-i a\u015fa c\u0103 dacii erau mai dezvolta\u0163i dec\u00e2t romanii?” Prilej pentru fanul Imperiului Roman – eu! – de a m\u0103 lansa \u00eentr-o avers\u0103 de argumente, care mai de care mai bine fundamentate – care \u00eel distrau peste m\u0103sur\u0103. <\/p>\n
Aceea a fost prima moarte pe care am \u00eenfruntat-o – la \u00eenceput cu ne\u00eencredere. M\u0103 ata\u015fasem de respectivul prieten de familie ca de un tat\u0103. M\u0103 surprindeam g\u00e2ndind: “Trebuie s\u0103 \u00eei spun etc. etc.” Apoi \u00eemi reveneam: “Nu mai am cui s\u0103-i spun etc. etc.”<\/p>\n
\u015ei nu \u00eemi venea, precum spuneam, s\u0103 cred. Nu avea cum s\u0103 dispar\u0103 din via\u0163a mea – unul din primii oameni care m-a \u00een\u0163eles, m-a luat a\u015fa cum sunt, nu a\u015fa cum ar trebui s\u0103 fiu – o s\u0103 reapar\u0103 sigur, de undeva de dup\u0103 col\u0163.<\/p>\n
N-a reap\u0103rut.<\/p>\n
—-<\/p>\n
A doua moarte care m-a devastat a fost aceea a bunicului meu dup\u0103 mam\u0103 – un secui tipic, total lipsit de diploma\u0163ie \u015fi Scorpion pe deasupra – dar care m-a iubit mult, mult. De\u015fi mentalitatea genera\u0163iei lor era ad\u00e2nc \u00eemp\u00e2nzit\u0103 de rolul femeii \u00een societate, ca ve\u015fnic body-guard al crati\u0163ei – \u00eentr-un fel \u00eenduio\u015f\u0103tor, a sim\u0163it c\u0103 eu nu voi fi niciodat\u0103 “o femeie normal\u0103” – \u015fi nu sunt! – \u015fi a \u00eencercat, \u00eentotdeauna, s\u0103 m\u0103 menajeze \u015fmechere\u015fte de treburile gospod\u0103riei. M\u0103 ducea peste tot la cump\u0103r\u0103turi – se bucura de notele mele bune mai mult dec\u00e2t m\u0103 bucuram eu, trufa\u015fa, care vedeam \u00een ele o chestie banal\u0103 \u015fi de la sine \u00een\u0163eleas\u0103 – \u015fi se l\u0103uda: “Fata asta o s\u0103 ajung\u0103 \u00eentr-o bun\u0103 zi cineva important. C\u0103 i-a dat Dumnezeu cap!”<\/p>\n
\u015ei se l\u0103uda c\u0103 \u015ftie s\u0103 ghiceasc\u0103 \u00een cafea. Eu m\u0103 prezentam mereu cu za\u0163ul la ghicit – speram s\u0103 \u00eemi spun\u0103 c\u0103 m\u0103 voi \u00eendr\u0103gosti – asta \u00eemi doream cel mai tare \u00een copil\u0103rie, s\u0103 m\u0103 \u00eendr\u0103gostesc \u015fi s\u0103 m\u0103 m\u0103rit. S\u0103pt\u0103m\u00e2na viitoare, dac\u0103 se poate. Dar el \u00eemi prezicea alte, \u015fi alte note mari. Ceea ce m\u0103 l\u0103sa cu o frustrare \u00eembufnat\u0103: De ce nu ghice\u015fte ce e \u00een mintea mea?<\/p>\n
—<\/p>\n
Azi diminea\u0163a, a sunat telefonul. \u015ei am aflat o nou\u0103 veste, despre care acum nu am puterea s\u0103 scriu. Am doar sentimentul de “I’m too old for this”. \u00centr-un cuv\u00e2nt: cu c\u00e2t suntem mai b\u0103tr\u00e2ni, cu at\u00e2t suntem mai pu\u0163in preg\u0103ti\u0163i de moarte.<\/p>\n
—<\/p>\n
Iar Pulic\u0103-motanul mi-a sim\u0163it starea, a venit, \u015fi mi-a pus o l\u0103bu\u0163\u0103 pe m\u00e2n\u0103. O l\u0103bu\u0163\u0103 pufoas\u0103, neagr\u0103.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Sunt prea b\u0103tr\u00e2n\u0103 pentru a face fa\u0163\u0103 mor\u0163ii. (M\u0103 refer la moartea unei persoane iubite.) C\u00e2nd eram copil, \u015fi murea c\u00e2te cineva \u00een jurul...<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_feature_clip_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":false,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","default_image_id":0,"font":"","enabled":false},"version":2},"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-166","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-spicy"],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_likes_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/lorenalupu.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/166","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/lorenalupu.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/lorenalupu.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lorenalupu.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lorenalupu.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=166"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/lorenalupu.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/166\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/lorenalupu.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=166"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lorenalupu.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=166"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lorenalupu.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=166"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}