MARY JANE'S STORIES: HAPPY BIRTHDAY
1946 was a year of great changes all over the world but, above all, it was the year my father was born. Daddy, for eighteen years I have had the opportunity to have you physically next to me on July 11th, your birthday, and for eighteen years I have never been able to celebrate your life in the way you deserve. I deeply regret this. I don't remember writing you a card or letter worth keeping in your heart, and I don't remember surprising you with a gift designed to amaze you. If there is one thing I love about birthdays, it is to amaze the people I love by giving them something that I am sure makes them happy; the more interests they have, the easier it will be to find the perfect present. In your case, daddy, I could have indulged myself for a lifetime, so many were your interests ranging from music to arts, history, science, geography, politics and reading. I would have liked so much to have you by my side now that my literary tastes are more mature, to be able to recommend books to read to each other and exchange them from time to time. I would not even want to find myself in the situation of being able to only write what I feel for you, after having lost years of my life fearing your severity; I shouldn't have waited to say "I love you" while you were laying on what would become your deathbed; I shouldn't have let you go with a miserable note full of pain and bitterness, which on the day of your funeral I jealously hid in your jacket pocket. I never learned to love you properly, I never learned to open my heart to yours. Years go by, and I can only imagine what emotions your eyes full of awareness of being esteemed might arouse in me. I realize that I have made many more mistakes than I should have made, and that your keeping me away from certain people and situations was only in order to avoid suffering and danger. You were wrong too, I don't want to sweeten the pill just because you're gone. Our mistake was to clean up our conscience in solitude and silence, instead of sitting across from each other to clarify what needed to be fixed. Writing and remembering about you comes out of my mind and my fingers unconsciously like a vital fluid, almost as if I were intent on composing a song. I don't believe in hell and heaven, I don't even believe in a second life or reuniting with loved ones after death. All I want is that these words, my thoughts and feelings that I keep for you, disperse in the sky like petals gently carried by the wind on the day I’ll pass away; that sky that you loved so much to fly over on board an airplane or even just a small glider. The sky, abode of peace and eternal joy. Happy Birthday Dad! I love you. Martina.
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