The story of a parrot named Lorrito

Lorrito was a parrot given to my mother by one of her clients. Her client was suffering from a terminal disease, therefore she couldn't take care of the parrot anymore. She knew that my mother loved animals and we had a small jungle of pets over the years. And so, she decided our home would be the best option for the Amazonian Parrot, Lorrito.

I later found out that my mother's client was the second person to take care of him, as his first human also had health issues and could not look after him after a while. When we got Lorrito, he was around 15 years old. I was 12.

Him and my mother had a very special bond; not one you would expect human and bird to form. He would call my mum his 'love', 'darling', profess his love to her and sweet-talk her. If you thought parrots don't understand the meaning behind the words they learn, you were wrong. He knew exactly what he was saying, and that is proven by all the times he would call someone who pissed him off 'wanker' (malakas <μαλάκας> in Greek). 

He attacked my mum and my dad a few times, usually when he got scared of something, or jealous (he was very possessive of my mum); thankfully, nothing too serious -even though both my parents have a couple of scars because of him. Quite often, when he heard my mum taking a shower he would sneak in the bathroom, climb the bath curtain and peek-a-boo her. She would then put him on her shoulder and take a shower with him. Other times, my mum would be sitting on the couch eating pumpkin seeds whilst watching TV and he would be beside her eating pumpkin seeds as well. 

During the summer they would share her watermelon with feta cheese or my mum would be using the garden hose on him and he'd say 'my love' and 'I like this' to her. He let her pet him on his head, his neck and sometimes his back and belly. If I or my father wanted to touch him, he would usually wrap his claws around our finger and say something nice. Unless he was in a bad mood. Then he would swear at us and try to bite us. As long as you were nice to him and didn't do any sudden movements around him, you were going to be fine. 

I'm now realising I'm talking about a bird as if he was human. But you see, he was still part of my family and my mother loved him as her child. He had a personality and characteristics, he wasn't a silent observator... Oh, he wasn't silent at all! I'll never forget him trying to mimic our voices (he was always more successful in mimicking my dad's voice) or shouting happily when he heard children on TV (he seemed to have a soft spot for kids) or trying to unsuccessfully repeat the news on TV. 

Unfortunately, my parents found out very recently he was suffering from bacteria in his gut. Apparently, this type of bacteria is normal in parrots when they live in the jungle, but can harm them when they're domesticated. My parents tried hard to find someone who specialises in exotic birds to help them, and even though they did, Lorrito didn't seem to get better. Today I received the phone call informing me that my mother found him dead in the same spot he fell asleep last night. 

He has gotten so much love over the years and had a plethora of adventures in the 20 years he had been with us. I truly hope and wish his soul will rest in peace. What gives me some sort of comfort is he is not suffering anymore. I hope my dad and even more so my mum will be able to heal from that loss.

Fear of Death

Fear of death is something that has been torturing me since a very young age. It has been paralysing at times. Avoidance and inaction feels like freezing time after all. Not doing, inertia, gives you the false impression that you managed to pause life itself. 
But you didn't. 

Sometimes you may even consider inertia as 'not living.' And if you're not living, how could you ever die?
The safety not acting brings is very comforting. You make no right, you make no wrong, and you also don't progress. Because progressing means death. Doing brings you a step closer to death. 

I have been avoiding dealing with death for a very long time. The first time I had to face death was when family pets died. The first couple of times I was too young to understand what death meant. Then, I realised death is loss. Death is not ever seeing someone or something again, never experiencing life with them again, never experiencing what you love about them again.

When I was ten, my mum's mother, my grandma, passed away. She was 96 and bed bound for the last eight years of her life. She died in her sleep, on an armchair in the living room, as I was playing with my toys in the same room. They told me she died in her own bedroom a few minutes later. I recently was told by a cousin that she actually died in front of me. I still cannot digest that. I have no recollection of it. At the time, I didn't really deal with her death. I wasn't even allowed at her funeral. It wasn't until years later that I actually managed to come to terms with her passing.

The following years I heard about a few of my parents' relatives and acquaintances passing away. Most of the time I didn't even know them in person, so even though I might have felt a bit shaken, I was able to move on without paying attention. The very few times someone I actually knew passed away I didn't really think about it. I was sad and even devastated when I heard about it, but the next day it was as if the bad news had disappeared from my thoughts. Even when I went to someone's funeral, I tried to treat it like a bad dream. It wasn't real to me. It wasn't that I didn't care about those people, it was that I didn't have the mental capacity to deal with loss. I didn't know how to mourn and move on. 

One day before I turned 21, our dog, Lulu, had to be put down. She had multiple types of cancer and she was suffering. She was 15 years old. I had to tell her goodbye, so I spent some time with her, telling her how much I loved her, how much she meant to me. We had her since I was six. I couldn't stop crying. After the vet put her down I didn't stop crying for a week. I couldn't eat, I couldn't speak. I was a mess. Up to this day I feel like she's going to come to the kitchen sometimes and give us her googly eyes to get food. 

I took an oath to never have a dog or any other pet after that. I didn't have the strength to live with their loss. 

In the past five years I keep on hearing about death. In my personal circles and in the world. Terrorism, mass murders, suicides, old age, diseases etc. And I block it. I desperately attempt to never think about it. Many times I fail though. And those times it's tremendously hard to get on with life. 

After the loss of a close family friend a few months ago, then my grandma’s and more recently a family member’s miscarriage I have been thinking about death constantly.

We recently visited our family friend's widow. She was a shadow of her once cheerful self. There was a sadness in her eyes, a surrender. She's 56 years old, relatively young. Still, you could tell she didn't know how to keep on living. She had been married to her husband since she was 17 years old. She only knew how to live as his wife. She had never experienced adult life without him. Luckily, she became grandmother a few months prior to her husband's passing. From our conversation I realised her grandchild is what is keeping her alive. The night after our visit I found it hard to sleep. I couldn't shake her image from my head. The way she sat, how many times she almost burst into tears...

On the 23rd of July my dad's mother, my other grandma, passed away at 102. She died in her sleep on her bed, surrounded by her children and children in law. I hadn't seen her much in the past ten years, only a couple of times a year -if so-, since I lived in England. The last 2 years she couldn't communicate and didn't know what was going on most of the time. The only time I cried was when during her funeral, one of the children she saved as a nurse spoke about her life. I still haven't mourned her loss. Maybe because I didn't spend as much time with her. The funeral was quite hard, especially since my aunt decided she wanted an open casket. She looked quite peaceful, as if she was asleep. However, when I touched her forehead to say goodbye, she was frozen. Then it hit me: That was her dead body. It was an empty vessel and my grandma wasn't in there anymore.

I haven't been able to sleep properly since her passing. My nightmares have gotten worse and my anxiety has hit the roof. I think with her death and what came after her death, I had to admit that life ends. I had to face that life is short and when the end comes, it's the end. 

Please don't respond with your religious beliefs about the afterlife; they're irrelevant to me. And unnecessary at this point. I personally believe death brings the end. You're gone. Nothingness.
And that will be forever hard to handle.

Two days ago I was informed that a relative of mine -who has been trying to get pregnant since April- had a miscarriage. It was very early stages of the pregnancy, but she was still broken. I didn't speak with her much as we're trying to give the couple privacy. Nevertheless, I could feel her pain for the loss of a future child. The loss of her hopes that she would be a mother. Her and her husband are mourning at the moment. 

It has been a very tough summer. The warmth of the weather collides with the deaths in my immediate circles, only highlighting the antithesis.
Quite mentally drained at the moment, I'm hopelessly searching for a healthy strategy on coming to terms with loss, with death.
I have a very long way to go, and I'm unsure I'll ever manage it. 

~

ps. In reading this, I hope you find comfort in the fact that you are not alone. We all come across death and loss in life. It's one of the few things that we all have in common, a few things that can unite us.
ps2. Part of a poem inspired by the events of this summer.

Little Lizard

Less than a couple of hours ago I thought I had saved a little lizard from two stray cats. Its tail was cut off and it had a scratch on the side. I put it in a safe place in the garden, only to find out that ants were eating it an hour later. I was very shaken and sad by the fact that I couldn't save it, but even more so by the fact that it was suffering prior to its death. This is a poem I wrote for it:

"Poor little lizard, what an awful way to dieHe cut your tail and he scratched your side

I tried to save you; I failed, tell me why?
My heart is broken, distraught; I saw you die

I hoped you didn’t suffer; I want to say goodbye
Your last moments were painful; I wish it was a lie

I wish I’d been more helpful, I wish I’d saved your life
I’m now mourning your death, tears running from my eyes

I thought you would survive this, but then I saw the ants
Devouring your small body, approached you really fast

I’ll give you a proper burial, I know you had a soul
I’m sorry I couldn’t save you from this unfair downfall"

Rest in peace little lizard...

Loss of a family friend

Today I found out a family friend passed away yesterday.
I still don't know exactly how I feel, or how I will react tomorrow -at the funeral.

My parents came back home from their gardening session not looking as excited as they usually do. I asked them how did the gardening go, only to find out the news.

Mr. Yiannis was a remarkable man. He was born and raised in a small Greek village. He lost his dad when his was a baby, so his mother raised him by herself. He started working at the age of nine. He left the village to go to the city at the age of 11, apprenticing as a vehicle mechanic. Then, he decided to apprentice in merchant ships as a mechanic. So, at the tender age of 13 he boarded a ship. When he was 20 years old his mother died whilst he was in the army (joining the army is compulsory for men in Greece). He was completely alone.
Ten years later he married a lovely woman, they had a daughter together. One decade later he had to quit being a mechanic and return to land permanently due to severe health implications. His family was there for him, his friends were there for him. He was well loved. He was also very fond of cats. When he was apprenticing, he didn't have anywhere to sleep, so he slept on the shop's storage floor. There were a lot of stray cats in the neighbourhood and every winter they slept with him to keep him warm. They were his friends.
The past 28 years he has been suffering from many different health issues, but he always had a smile on his face. Kind, warm and welcoming. The past couple of years were very hard on him and his family. Surgeries, more surgeries, a lot of pain and recovery. Last September he became a granddad. I heard he was so happy. It is very unfortunate his grandchild will never get to really meet this amazing human being.
I hadn't seen him for a few years myself. I deeply regret it now.

But that's the thing with death. You never know when and who it will strike.

Rest in Peace κύριε Γιάννη.
Ήσασταν υπέροχος άνθρωπος.
🌸

Life Game

In the academic year of 2011-12 (3rd year of my bachelors) I wrote a song inspired by the work I had done for my Independent Project.

That project entailed me interviewing people about pain and their memories of pain, whilst filming them, and then creating an avant garde piece of music and film. 

Which I did, and it was great.

In the meantime though, this project inspired me to write another song. 'Life Game'

I don't often go back and re-read or refer to my lyrics, but the following lyrics are depressingly relevant to this moment of my life:

"Pain is loss, pain is rejection

Pain is when you can’t find affection

Pain is racism, pain is bullying

Pain is when your heart is bleeding

Pain is physical, pain is mental

Pain is you on a misery spiral

Pain is shame, pain is blame

Pain is you not being the same?