évtized

The day disappeared when you did. I don’t think I’ve ever been so relieved in grief. How long does it take to live a life?

I get sadder every year you’re not here. I guess I have to try a little harder to keep you alive.

When the dates get further away, I overcompensate more. I yearn technology, but memories fade.

I really hated being Hungarian as a kid- it was so different & nobody acknowledged it. It’s so ridiculous. Now I wear it like a badge.

But most, I miss sitting in the same room. I’m grateful to remember the sounds, hopefully I get to keep them. We cough the same.

As the time grows, so does the burden – gratefully. Time spent, time passed. I would’ve loved sharing a beer with you. I tell myself you would’ve been polite & then told Mum the truth over the phone in Hungarian.

The weight of introductions is something I miss the most. It’s so selfish on my behalf, it just vouched for so much so quickly. I can’t do it justice. It’s hard to own the room in the same way.

I really haven’t felt the same since you left, & I haven’t been able to do you or Momma justice. I don’t hate being Hungarian anymore.

It’s unfair how the card games slowly had less seats. They really were so nice, I can remember their smiles, entering the room to mischief after school. I often try to catch those thoughts. I have dreams of walking into those rooms. I remember Mischi had such an infectious laugh.

When you shared the loneliness of outlasting, I didn’t understand. I still don’t. I can’t imagine how that felt. The last man standing is a hollow burden & a lonely wake. Only the strong survive – almost cruel in age.

They always said we looked alike, more as I got older. Dad said I had your ears when I was born.

When you die twice, it happens when you leave, and the second when someone says your name for the last time.

So Janos Bedi, I really miss you. Thank you for being my grandfather, so much so, that it hurts thinking about you.

emlek.