What follows is the story of an experience that Elena has experienced first hand. I really enjoyed reading it, so I asked if I could reserve a space in my room literature.
"The room screaming " Elena Acquati Wallendorf.
about 6 years old, mom came to pick me as usual with his grandparents in the country, where I was during the settimana.Mi took me aside and said, "I have to say something important and very ugly, and Silvia dead "this was a girl one year and a half that I loved very much, the daughter of neighbors. At the time I'm not upset at all. Mom and Grandma made me the talk about children when they die and become angels over there, took it quietly. We got into the car and left for Milan. Once home, Mom said she was going to make the neighbors awake with them before the funeral, the body of the child was composed at home and I wanted to go with her at all costs. It was not the first time I attend such a thing in town I always carried with her grandmother when women washed the dead, he said that I had to get used to and honestly I had never made an impression: in general, I danced around the corpse and tried to wake him, to see if my magic, which I believed I had, worked.
from the nearby living room and there I went into the bed of the girl and her lying in and around the candles, Mother went to the kitchen by her parents to take off her coat.
I'm not sure I succeeded.
Before I touched her: it was cold, he knew, the dead are cold. I called several times, trying to wake her up: nothing 'sti magic just does not work, maybe I was too young to use them. Suddenly, like a tide, I overcame the fear. Something went click in the brain. A new link between synapse. Click and imrovvisamente know something that did not previously know, within a nanosecond, I'll get him the knowledge, if a girl younger than me is dead then I can die too! It is not true at all that you die from old and is all true what I see on the news: the hungry children, the war in Vietnam ... all true.
ARE IN DANGER: I do not care, they become a little angel, we sit at the feet of God the Father, nothing interests me Faced with the prospect of my own end, not there is nothing to console me, no, no story, no caress, I'm all alone in front of my death, I look at her and I see my death. And I have six years.
begin to gird: "No, no no no no no no !!!!!" nonononono and cry like a fountain. They come large and I cry even more. Ricomiciano the stories about angels, but are no longer effective. I'm angry, I'm pissed off black, are prey to a strange mix between fear, disgust, boredom and sense of rebellion: they are bad.
And I cry, the only thing that helps me, because what I feel and desire to break everything.
I feel cheated.
How long do I have? As I left? How to use it, how still live knowing ....
BUT OTHERS KNOW?! We have advised?
If no: I have to do? If you
: why spend time doing useless things?
Because so many things appear to me within a nanosecond profoundly unnecessary: \u200b\u200bwatching television, for example, things like that.
From that moment everything changed and the meaning has become to me makes sense. I said Mom was crying for me and not for the dead child, because it seemed an act of selfishness on my own.
In the end she was dead, not me, but lei.Lei could not even cry anymore and the worst of it was me that had died without having first heard the risks they ran: she had lived unconscious.
I've never been afraid of life, just because this happened to me.
Of death I fear no longer exists, not to think more, but not a paralyzing thought, quite the opposite is what inspires me to live intensely, trying not to throw anything away, this fear is the thing I a sense.
I'm happy to be aware.
(... And I have you met her!)
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