My Dad took care of my grandma until her last day on this earth. They lived close to each other, only two bus stations away. 

Each day was the same. 

You could find him reading or watching tv late at night and his mornings were very late, too. His coffee would start boiling no earlier than 10 AM and he savored it by himself, on the window of his 5th-floor condo. 

When noon approached, he would dress slowly and slam the metal door behind him, closing this way the safe where half of his life was happening. 

The other half he would spend with his mother, cooking together and then reading the newspapers lent by a neighbor. 

In the summertime, they would go out in the park after the afternoon nap. 

In the evening, my father would head back to his place, like an inmate going back to his cell after the hours spent outside. 

My father loved his mother very much and this ritual didn’t bring him discomfort.

My Mom lived in the same neighborhood as my Grandma, only two blocks away, but because she had left my father tens of years ago and hurt him, they weren’t speaking to each other. 

Last year my Grandma passed away and my father was left with lots of free time and no ritual. 

He suffered in silence and didn’t make much fuss about this. My grandma was 95, after all, when she died. 

When my father decided to visit us at the end of last year, he decided to rent both apartments, his and my grandma’s, hoping this would be a long visit. 

The meeting and the visit have been a nice disaster. 

He hated the jungle, the distance from a supermarket, the outside toilet and after two torture months, he went back gladly to the asphalt jungle. 

Having both apartments rented, he went live with my mom, who coldly welcomed him. 

Yesterday I spoke to him on the phone. 

He was telling me that my mom was worried she hadn’t paid her cable and was afraid she could miss Esca. 

My father offered to pay it for her and this way end her panic. 

My mom declared her independence adding she was not “his mother” and she could take care of her businesses. 

And she left. 

She came back half a day later, very nervous, telling him it was his fault she had forgotten to take the receipt and she would have to go back to get it. 

My dad was wondering what he’s done wrong.

Other than that, nothing, all’s good…


Tata a avut grija de mamaie pana in ultimul ei moment pe acest pamant. Stateau foarte aproape unul de celalalt, la numai doua statii de troleibuz distanta. Fiecare zi urma acelasi ritual. 

Asa il gaseai pana tarziu in noapte citind sau devorand televizorul iar diminetile-i erau la fel de tarzii. Cafeaua-i incepea sa fiarba nu mai devreme de ora 10:00, pe care-o savura singur, agatat de geamul garsonierei de la etajul 5. 

Aproape de pranz se imbraca incet si trantea usa de metal in spatele lui, inchizand astfel seiful unde-si petrecea jumatate din timp. 

Cealalta jumatate o petrecea cu mamaie, gatind impreuna cu ea, dupa care citeau impreuna ziarele donate in fiecare zi de catre o vecina din bloc. 

Vara aveau obiceiul sa iasa in parc dupa un pui de somn furat cu placere dupa masa de pranz. Spre seara, tata o lua cu pasi marunti si lenti spre propria locuinta, precum un detinut care se intoarce in celula dupa orele petrecute in curte. 

Tata si-a iubit mama foarte mult iar acest ritual nu-i producea discomfort. 

Mama, statea in acelasi bloc cu mamaie la doar doua scari distanta dar pentru ca l-a parasit pe tata acum zeci de ani si l-a facut sa sufere, nu-si vorbeau. 

Anul trecut mamaie a trecut in lumea celor care nu cuvanta iar tata a ramas cu mult timp liber si fara ritual. 

A suferit in tacere dar nu a facut prea mult caz din aceasta despartire. Mamaie avea totusi aproape 97 de ani cand a murit. 

Cand tata s-a hotarat sa ne viziteze la sfarsitul anului care tocmai a trecut, a decis sa inchirieze ambele apartamente, si pe al lui si pe cel gol lasat de mamaie, in speranta ca vizita va fi una prelungita. 

Intalnirea si vizita a fost un dezastru placut. 

Nu i-a placut deloc jungla, distanta fata de supermarket si wc-ul din curte si dupa doua luni chinuite s-a intors bucuros la jungla de asfalt. 

Avand ambele locuinte inchiriate, spre fericirea lui s-a dus la mama, care l-a primit cu bratele larg inchise. 

Ieri am vorbit cu el la telefon. Imi povestea ca mama era ingrijorata ca nu si-a platit cablul si-i era frica ca nu cumva sa o piarda pe Esca. 

Tata s-a oferit sa se duca sa plateasca el factura si sa-i curme nelinistea. 

Mama i-a declarat independenta subliniind ca nu-i “ma-sa” si  ca se poate duce singura sa-si rezolve treburile. 

Si a plecat. 

S-a intors dupa o jumatate de ora foarte nervoasa, reprosandu-i ca a uitat chitanta din cauza lui si va trebui sa faca cale intoarsa. 

Tata m-a sunat sa ma intrebe cu ce a gresit.

Nu mai zic nimic, toate bune…

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