How can one squeeze half a lifetime of memories into 4 days?
The moment I stepped my foot into the house I call my second home, tears started running down my cheeks. Right there at the entrance, where we had last said our goodbyes 6 years ago. When they were both still there.
Omi & Opi.
Now, instead of their laughter, there was silence. Painful & breathtaking silence. Everything looked the same, but it was nothing like before without their presence. The picture hanging on the wall, the smell coming from the kitchen, the sound coming from the boiler all shook me to the core. It’s too painful, I thought to myself. It’s too soon. I don’t want to do this. A very close friend of the family saw my devastation and gave me an emergency hug. ‘it’s ok…you need to grieve…let it all out…’
On the day of her funeral, the sun was shining. It was unexpected but painfully calming as one of Omi’s biggest concerns had always been whether the sun was going to shine or not (understandable when it comes to Germany’s
awful unpredictable weather). Just before the funeral, my sister Alex and I needed to get some air and decided to go for a last walk in our beloved woods where Opi used to hide Gummibärchen under the trees and pretend the heinzelmännchen had left them there for us.
The service followed, tears were shed and final goodbyes were said.
Grief is a strange thing. It comes and goes whenever it pleases without any forewarning or hesitation. One moment you think your are OK, the next you are overwhelmed with an unbearable sadness.
Sadness of someone who will be forever gone but never forgotten.
Omi, Ich hab dich wahnsinnig lieb
deine allerbeste Tatu
Ich bin nicht tot, ich tauschte nur die Räume.
Ich leb in euch, ich geh in eure Träume