Last night, while sorting through some paperwork prepared for bureaucratic procedures, I came across a population record. The document listed the individuals who entered and exited that person’s life. I paused at the date of death: 14/11/2009, after the details of their life, including marriage, births, deaths of children, and their marriages and adoptions.
As scenes rapidly played in my mind, the image of the paper in front of me gradually lost its clarity. After a while, I stopped forcing myself and let it go. While questioning his significant traits, character, personality, and the life he lived within myself, the most crucial question came to my mind: “What did I inherit from him?”
From all those experiences and years spent together, something must have been passed down to me. They say no one exits a relationship the way they entered it. So, what had I gained from this person I spent 29 years of my life with? What had he unintentionally injected into my soul, personality, and self?
Firstly, patience came to my mind. I believe I am a patient person, but as I grow older, I realize I am moving further away from being as patient as him. He had a quick temper and easily got annoyed. In contrast, even in the most challenging moments, I manage to keep my composure. He wasn’t very adaptable to innovations, but if explained and narrated logically, he would easily embrace them. On the contrary, I love novelty and easily get bored with anything repetitive. He loved Western and action movies, while, truth be told, I detested Westerns even as a child.
Hundreds of characteristics come to mind, and I try to find their counterparts within myself, but I am still not satisfied. Finally, as I reexamine the list, I see the big picture. Many of his traits were actually fed from a single source, and the common denominator in the intersection of the characteristics finding their counterpart in me was one thing: he was an extremely emotional person.
He always wanted to be with his loved ones and didn’t care about anyone else. He would give everything he had to his loved ones and would share continuously, even if it meant putting himself in a difficult situation. His generosity would often frustrate me. He would claim that people saw him as a fool, and I would constantly argue about why he never got tired of being taken advantage of by friends. I would say, “Can’t you see? No one comes to your door without an ulterior motive!” This disagreement led to so many fights that I had become nauseated by repeatedly saying the same things. Despite knowing that his friend sold things at a much higher price than the store right next to him, he would insist on buying from him, and he would always conduct business with friends. He found amusement in constantly being ripped off, deceived, and cheated, sometimes making me deeply empathetic. However, he never gave up on this.
While scolding him, yelling that he was being unnecessarily emotional, and claiming that there was no place for friendship and camaraderie when it came to business, I wasn’t aware of how much I was scolding myself. Essentially, I was telling him not to do what I was doing. In calling him a fool, I would secretly scold my own foolishness, advising him to choose the logical path while scolding my own illogical actions.
As I reflect on my life, thinking that I’ve aged a bit more today, I’ve learned one more thing: being emotional, nurturing your loved ones, and constantly trying to benefit them is not a bad thing. As someone who has lived with this chronic condition to the core, lying in the coffin, I saw it in the faces of dozens who attended the funeral. Even while alive, he always stood with his head held high in front of others, but he walked with confidence. Because he never sold his friendships, camaraderie, or his soul to materialism or worldly ambitions. No matter who was in front of him, he lived without any embarrassment, and one day, the emotional toll on his heart became too heavy.
A sentimental man has passed from this world. A person who, in the face of those who mattered, always felt humble and could only be understood with respect… That’s why death, which everyone fears, was a “Beautiful Thing” for him.
Would he have agreed with me during our fights if he were a professional? Would people’s eyes still fill with tears when his name is mentioned? I highly doubt it.