But fifteen years ago, on Monday, May 2nd, 2011, at about 22.05, my father left this world after four weeks on Intensive Care.
Only some weeks before, on March 24, 2011, he had turned 77. Apart from some minor troubles normal for a man his age, he was a healthy person. Not a week before being admitted to the hospital, he went with my mom to the annual dinner event of his old Institut Technique Ath schoolmates, and was by all accounts the healthiest and fittest of the group. Four days later he was on Intensive Care. Four weeks after that he was dead.
"Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for Thou art with me; Thy rod and Thy staff they comfort me." ~ Psalm 23:4 ~
My mom, almost 87 now, hasn't been too good on her feet for the past three years or so, so I went to the cemetery alone at noon to pay my respects. After having deposited some modest but fitting flower ensemble and having said my prayers, I left again, checking out my own final resting place. Indeed, by a stroke of luck I managed to secure a concession for the 'caveau', a concrete enclosed pit fitting a coffin, right behind my father's grave last year. It did me nothing. I wish to be buried in the classical way, like my dad. I just hope that before my time has come, the Lord will grant me sufficient years yet to finish the three goals I set myself: complete my Shangri-La, build my astronomical observatory on top of it, and especially... write that Book I have had in my mind now for so long.
Time will tell and God will decide.
Rest in Peace father. It's been fiftteen long years, but we still think of you. God Bless.
MFBB.