wherever you are, I wanted you to know that I still think of you lots. This letter was born in my head a while ago and although it is very personal, I’m using my blog to unleash these crazy feelings I’m supposed to deal with. Just so you know, the tone is lighthearted and not at all serious – it even made me laugh sometimes. So, today — hold onto your seat — I’m going to tell you what happened after the night you decided to leave us.
Before we start, you have to know that the moment I write the word “Mum” my tears start pouring down my face – see, years later, against all my GREATEST efforts, I eventually became you and publicly cry on bloody everything. It’s been 5 years since you’re gone and you wouldn’t believe how much life has changed since you made your last memories. I tried so hard to move on quickly in order to not feel pain. And yet, today I find all these overwhelming feelings inside of me waiting to be explained and understood. But guess what, I never tried to understand them because I was too scared to be hurt by feelings I couldn’t control. No one would know it better than yourself that I’ve never been a big fan of feelings, so don’t judge me when I say: I thought I’d be better off without them.
The day after you decided to leave this World behind, I was going to get on a morning flight and move from Nuremberg to London. It was a hot summer evening and Anett and me were having dinner on her balcony when Dad called – screaming and sobbing – to tell me that you died. I didn’t know what to feel, say or do – and 5 years on I still don’t. But I remember that feeling in my stomach like it was yesterday.
I drove home 2 days later and started to organise your funeral: the local flourist in our hometown of 2,000 people was thrilled when I called her. I’m sure she even murmured a quiet “finally” when she figured who I was. She mentioned a COUPLE OF TIMES how much she was looking forward to receiving orders for the funeral from the rest of the family as well. On a different note, the church was leaving me messages through various neighbours to remind me to PAY for the COMPLEMENTARY chime of bells they provide with everybody who was unluckly enough to pass away.
I did pay for all complementary services, but you’d be very proud to know that on my very own, charmingly intelligent way I also told them to f*** off.
The day of the funeral was something we all just wanted to get over with. Other than dad trying to navigate me into a parking bay in a completely empty parking lot in the cemetery, I can’t remember much. Your oldest friends and all my friends and even their parents were there. Your old boss’ drunk husband casually brought a chair with him and sat down right next to the coffin so his extremely loud tearless weeping could interrupt the ceremony a couple of times. I’m sure at one point I rolled my eyes so hard I checked out my own bum. You wouldn’t have been surprised: the whole thing was chaotic and surreal.
After the funeral I took dad for ice-cream. It was a warm, late-summer evening in the town you spent your entire life. As the last rays of the setting sun gently stroke my face, we said our final goodbyes.
The day after that I drove back to Germany. The day after that I flew to London. The day after that I started my new job at Puma UK. 5 years after that I’m lying on my bed in my own apartment in Central London. Haven’t been back to Hungary since January for the craziest reason. I missed Suni’s wedding this summer.
You see, life is different today. And I know, if we met again for just one minute, you’d ask me if I am happy. Let’s keep the answer for another time, shall we? I have so much to tell you first.