Šopavasar kādā aprīļa rītā saņēmu divas ziņas. Viena bija no brāļa par to, ka mūsu Latvijas dārzā, kā norunāts, iepriekšējā vakarā iestādījis ķiršu koku. Otra bija par to, ka tai pašā naktī mūžībā aizgājusi manas zviedru kolēģes Lindas mazā meitiņa Alise.Es viņu pavisam īsi redzēju tikai vienu vai divas reizes, vēl pavisam maziņu, bet iepazinu viņas mammas blogā mybravegirlalice. Alisei bija nedziedināma, iedzimta muskuļu slimība, un viņa nodzīvoja vienu gadu. Tikai gadu? Veselu gadu? Alises mammas blogā redzams, ka tas ir mīlestības un abpusējas došanas pilns gads – gads kā vesela dzīve. Gads, kas māca piedzīvot katru dienu kā brīnumu.
Sestdien Zviedrijā ir Alises piemiņas brīdis. Es Alisi pieminēšu šeit, pie mūsu ķiršu koka. Gribu kā katru gadu būt klāt mammas dzimšanas dienā. Alise sapratīs – viņa zina, cik svarīga ir mamma.
Mūsu dārzā katru dienu skan bērnu smiekli , raudas un klaigas, kāds cep smilšu kūkas, kāds skrienot sasit celīti un raud, cits slejas kājās un mācās staigāt, kāds ar krītiņiem uz plāksnītēm zīmē burtus, vēl kāds pie dārza vārtiņiem mēģina tirgot paša salasītas upenes... Pa vidu aug ķirsis, neticami ātri stiepjoties pretī debesīm un pāris mēnešu laikā kopš aprīļa izaugot vismaz par metru. It kā viņam tur augšā būtu kāds jāsatiek. It kā viņš būtu tilts vai garā pupa, pa kuru līdz mums atnāk mākoņu bērni, ieklausās un klusi smejas līdzi smalkās, sudrabotās balstiņās pāri klusumam.
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On an April morning this spring, I received two news. One was from my brother, who wrote that, as agreed, he had planted a cherry tree in our garden in Latvia the day before. The other news was about the passing away of little Alice, daughter of my Swedish colleague Linda on the same night.
I only saw her once or twice when she was very small, but got to know her through her mother’s blog mybravegirlalice. Alice had an incurable muscle disease, and she lived a year. Just a year? A whole year? Linda’s blog shows that it is a year of love and mutual giving, a year that is a whole lifetime. A year that teaches how to live each day as a miracle.
This Saturday, there will be a remembrance ceremony for Alice in Sweden. I will mark it here, looking at our cherry tree. Like each year, I want to be at my mother’s birthday here in Latvia. Alice will understand. She knows how important mothers are.
Each day there are children laughing, crying and shouting in our garden; someone is making sand ‘cakes’, somebody trips over while running and cries over a hurt leg, someone else is learning to walk, someone is learning letters by drawing them on the tiles, yet somebody else is trying to sell hand-picked berries to neighbours at the garden’s gate… Amidst, the cherry tree grows towards the sky incredibly fast, at least by a metre within a few months. As if it has to meet someone up there. As if it is a bridge or a magical bean growing into the sky, on which the cloud children reach towards us, listen in and laugh softly together with us in tiny, silvery voices across silence.
I only saw her once or twice when she was very small, but got to know her through her mother’s blog mybravegirlalice. Alice had an incurable muscle disease, and she lived a year. Just a year? A whole year? Linda’s blog shows that it is a year of love and mutual giving, a year that is a whole lifetime. A year that teaches how to live each day as a miracle.
This Saturday, there will be a remembrance ceremony for Alice in Sweden. I will mark it here, looking at our cherry tree. Like each year, I want to be at my mother’s birthday here in Latvia. Alice will understand. She knows how important mothers are.
Each day there are children laughing, crying and shouting in our garden; someone is making sand ‘cakes’, somebody trips over while running and cries over a hurt leg, someone else is learning to walk, someone is learning letters by drawing them on the tiles, yet somebody else is trying to sell hand-picked berries to neighbours at the garden’s gate… Amidst, the cherry tree grows towards the sky incredibly fast, at least by a metre within a few months. As if it has to meet someone up there. As if it is a bridge or a magical bean growing into the sky, on which the cloud children reach towards us, listen in and laugh softly together with us in tiny, silvery voices across silence.
1 komentārs:
Cik skaista un sirsnīga etīde!!!
Kad būs Tava pirmā grāmata???
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