As far as I can remember, my life has been filled with good and bad moments as probably every man of my age. And now that its major part is behind me, sudden memories keep passing in my head, mostly at night, when I’m lying on my bed and when all is dark, silent and peaceful around me. Night is the best moment to think, and when a man reaches my old age and finds himself mostly alone in a huge house, the best thing to do is just to think about the different moments that contributed to turn you into the person you are today.
The memory that keeps flashing in my head is the day I met my wife, Sally. I was a freshman, young, careless, filled with the simple thoughts every young boy of that age has.
Everything happened through a simple glance. I was just sitting on a bench, waiting for my next class to start when this small brown-haired girl arrived, surrounded by a crowd of noisy girls, but she was the only one I noticed. I had never seen her at school before, or maybe I simply never looked at her properly. But there she was, smiling, laughing with her friends. At one point, she turned her head in my direction, looked at me with surprise and simply smiled. It was a large smile that keeps dazzling me even today. I can’t remember how we started to talk, but all I know is that 8 years later she was standing next to me in front of the priest, and the smile on her face was still the same.
If this moment is a proof that my life hasn’t been a total series of unimportant events, another memory keeps haunting me, filling me with regrets and melancholy.
I was 31. My mother was laying in this sad little hospital bed, her skin like paper, her bald head hidden under a red cover. The doctors told me to not have any hope for her. She had been diagnosed with cancer only a few weeks before that day, and during those weeks all I had been able to do was to regret not to have spent more time with her.
And there I was, looking at her, crying like a little boy. She was almost...