Aşa mi-am început noul an, în piaţa publică din Darabani, odată cu discursul primarului. Au ceva primarii din Darabani, ceva care îi face aproape nostimi când fac gafe în public. Îmi amintesc că, acum vreo 10 ani, un alt primar l-a întâmpinat în Darabani pe Regele Mihai I cu salutul: “Bine aţi venit, Domnule Rege!”.

Cu câteva ore înainte să înceapă spectacolul de Revelion, primul din istoria oraşului, am făcut o plimbare cu Rada. Darabaniul e un oraş nins şi-ţi scârţie zăpada sub picioare. E ornat cu multe lumini de Sărbători, aşa cum se face în oraşele mari. Tot ca în oraşele mari, dărăbănenii au făcut Revelionul în stradă. Au fost acolo o mie de oameni, poate două, din totalul de 12.000 de locuitori. Un succes, dacă te gândeşti că la Cluj au fost 25.000, conform Realitatea TV şi 2.500, conform Daliei. La spectacol, au fost multe lumini (nu aşa de frumoase), câteva formaţii de care n-am auzit până acum (şi de care probabil nici nu voi auzi) şi artificii (foarte frumoase, e drept).

Darabaniul e un oraş în care, în mileniul 3, încă mai umblă destule pâlcuri de urători, înarmaţi cu clopoţei, tobe, măşti şi cu restul arsenalului. Un oraş unde e mereu linişte, oricâtă gălăgie ar fi. Un oraş unde îţi îngheaţă nasul, apoi şi restul extremităţilor, după o plimbare de jumate’ de oră. Şi unde nasul, şi apoi şi restul extremităţilor, ţi se dezmorţesc imediat ce ajungi înapoi acasă, pentru că mama a făcut focul în sobă şi pentru că tata ţi-a turnat deja un pahar de ţuică.

În Darabani am băut un pahar de vin cu oamenii mari din copilăria mea, m-am plimbat prin cele mai mişto locuri de săniuş de pe planetă, de unde mă întorceam întotdeauna răcit când eram copil. Am stat la poveşti şi parc-au stat secolele în loc pentru o vreme. M-am bucurat de tot ce mi s-a întâmplat şi, pentru prima dată de când mă ştiu, nu mi-am făcut promisiuni pentru anul care vine.

2009, poţi veni liniştit. Dacă o să fii bun, o să ne înţelegem bine. Dacă nu, nu-i nimic, am deja tot ce-mi trebuie ca să fiu fericit câteva vieţi de-acum înainte.

85 years ago, a new face changed the face of Home. He was simple but strong, poor but confident, far but trustful. And most of all, 85 years ago He started being happy.

85 years away from that moment, He has already spent his life. Respected and cherished by everybody, He called his thee sons to Him and said: “I will go now, you take care of each other. From now on, everything is split to three”.

The next day, the pain started. Three months with no eating, with no blood in His venes, with just the family around. The bones, the heart, the muscles, everything was in pain. From time to time, He was asking for help, calling for His wife, for His sons, for His nephews. From time to time, He was calling God: “it’s now time to take me away”.

He couldn’t eat no more, couldn’t cry no more. And still, He knew he has to do this. He was punishing Himself to eat a little everyday, so His pain in this life could go on.

And when He was ready to go, He started taking rare breaths, each one a taking Him closer to the other world. Between the breaths, with His eyes closed, what could He have thought about? Somehow, the three sons knew when He was dying, so all three of them were there with Him. They are all grey-haired, in their fifties.

Before the last breath, He pulled out all His strength and opened His eyes one last time. Eventhough He couldn’t cry no more, He knew that was the last time He saw them. So He shed one last tear, as a good-bye to this world, to His sons.

In His Home, there is this room where His sons started their married life. Everytime one got married, He gave him that room, to use it till he finds his own Home. The same room was the place where they have put Him, for the last three days of His staying here on Earth.

From this room, they took Him to the graveyard. One last stop in front of His Home. A sad family dressed in black, walking behind the funeral carriage. One old Lady, His Wife, in Her 80s, walking sad but strong, for the last time, along with Him.

In the graveyard, the three sons make their good-byes. One of them, the youngest one, in his 50s, is crying. The other two just lose their eyes somewhere in the past. They bow to the coffin and kiss their Father’s hand. the hand is holding a cross and is cold like never before.

They cover the coffin. The three men, gray-haired and dressed all in black, stay along the thumb. They will never see their Father again.

The Old Lady is not crying, not anymore. She just repeats to Him: “come Home with us”. But He is not coming and She knows He won’t. On the way back from the graveyard, she says, just for Herself: “God will take care of Me”.

People say it’s hard to take over a new position, a new job, a new experience. And it is. And still, the only reason people are here is to be gone one day. Then, someone else has to be strong enough to take over.

After turning 50, it looks like the world depends on us. Our children and nephews can’t imagine life without us, they don’t seem to believe that they will make it without us. But then we die and one of them takes it over from us.

I don’t know why I was shedding tears at the funeral. Maybe just because my grandfather died and he is no more.
Maybe also because of my grandmother’s pain. Maybe because of the view of the three sons taking it over.

Now it’s just one more generation till I take it over from my Father. And my Father is grey-haired. And everybody respects Him and cherishes Him. And He shed no tear at the funeral.

Rest in peace, Grandpa, and may your afterlife reward your 85 years on this Earth, in this Home.