A mio Padre Eugenio
Barbarossa, nato il 6 maggio 1922 e volato in Cielo l'11 maggio 2014
"That guy of the
22nd"
He was born in an age
which as soon as the war ended, he was working on another one, in a Europe
uncertain and frightful, no more nor less than today's actual one, where
concepts of love and brotherhood among people were not be determined yet. At the age of twenty,
Navy man of the Italian Regia Marina, found himself projected in a war not of
his own for a good six years. Following, a life of work, honestly, self inner respect, after being able to build a family, which eventually would
become his greatest satisfaction.
A wife, his own soul mate
for over 65 yrs, 4 kids and many grandchildren. A stable guide, a lighthouse, a
safe port of the bombarded sea of life for whomever have had the opportunity to
meet him. Throughout time, the stoms of life have nicked his body, but not his
mind.
His mind, a
marvellous plaiting of experience and
love, adapted itself at the times, at the research of stimuli and facts, at the
research of the meaning of life which is recognized in the contact of the surrounding would.
He was and always will be
an indispensable reference for his own loved ones, prodigy of advices and facts
manifested by the good example. He never ask for anything for himself. He never
presented the bill to the life.
His positivity and trust,
were based on a concept, today even more remote, of altruism.
When in these last moments, his health turned itsel
precarious, due to an incurable disease, he accepted his fate and respected the death. He did it praying
his own God, with serenity, without condemning or renegading. When his illness
had the best of his own senses, he trusted the structures which had the duty to
help him, and without pretending, he waited wishing for a calm and dignifying
death.
What carries our society
to deny the respect for the life, and even worse for the death. I wasn't given
to know
I know only that this guy
of the 22nd passed in a cold public hospital room, in which it was deny to him
and his own family, the amnesty to live his last hours, his last minutes, I'm
the silence and the private pain.
His life is terminated in
the middle of a turmoil, in a uproar of a
television turned on at substantial volume, in the laughter and in the
screams of a mob occasionally visiting his roommates. My father passed without
me hearing his breath, without me being able to see his soul fly out to the
neverending sky.
Today I'm here, not to
accuse, nevertheless to condemn, but simply to remember that if life has to
lived in dignity, even more dignity must.
the death. And this can be done without specific criteria nor additional
costs. It can be achieved following the spellings of our own heart and the
wisdom of our ancestors, who throughout the cult and respect for life, had
transmitted through time till reaching us, the respect and the culture of the death.
Fabio Barbarossa
