Quería escribir algo bonito sobre mi madrina Margarita. Lo escribí despues de ver este adorable video. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aUJvVEIduis

Aw, that's so cute!

My mom's sister had down syndrome and lived with us since I have a memory. She was clever, caring, loving, funny and adorable. She would love to play with me, I got used to call her "Godmother" because she want to be my godmother even though that was my dad's mom.
She always went like "you have to listen to your godmother" with that lovely tone she had in her voice and that adorable little face of hers. At one point when I was still a little kid I even asumed she was my older sister!

I remeber one time during my earliest school years that I made a drawing of my entire family. Mom, dad, grandpa, grandma, me, and of course my Godmother. My teacher asked me who was this other girl named "Margarita" on my drawing and I told her that she was my sister! When she asked me how old was she at that moment I replied "39 years old" and my teacher was like "You mean 39 MONTHS old, right? :)" and I would respond with a negative and tell her that she was 39 YEARS old and she would just keep doing her thing with the most confused face I've ever seen on a teacher hahahahaha


Anyways, I love this video. I love it because it shows how Down Syndrome people are loved because they are simply happy and cheerful and loving! They are just so nice to everyone and a blessing to humanity, they are pure and with no evil in them, just like my Godmother was.


The only downside to her was that she got Senile Dementia during my early teenage years. She kept forgeting things slowly through time. She would pick up the dirty plates from the table at the end of lunch, go to the kitchen and come back to the dining room with them and when mom asked what was she doing she would just go like "Oh my, this head of mine" with a snickely and lovely voice and get back to the kitchen.


Through the years she began to lose memory, become extremely dependant, unable to talk, walk, or even eat or drink. At the end she had to eat through a feeding tube and she would just be laying there, crying when she had a necessity and just vegetating in general.


One day the feeding tube got infected. The anesthetist who would be present during the operation to replace the tube told my mom that my Godmother could not bare through the operation and die on the surgery bed.

After that doctors just let her starve to death until a nurse came into the room to give her "something for the pain." It probably was morphine because seconds after that, with my mother standing there alone, my Godmother died after two false death attempts.


This was about 4 years from now. I got the bad news during a second of silence in honor of a teacher killed with a crossbow by a student down here in Spain. I remember that I acted all cool and joky about the situation saying something like "Oh nice, two dead people in one day" because I didn't want to feel the pain of losing someone so important to me.


To this day I regret all the times I treated her badly, yelled at her or treated her like a bad kid when she didn't go my way. I regret not spending enough time with her because of my videogames. I regret treating her like shit and yelling at her when she stopped being able to take care of herself and growled when she had a dirty diaper, felt uncomfortable or just felt lonely.


I truly regret wanting to leave out of boredom when we went to see her to her residence. I still remember those lovely eyes of her that glowed until the last moment, they glowed with the shine of a thousand stars when she saw mom, dad or me because she knew that we were with her.


She lost a cataract-operated eye due to an infection and even at that moment you could see that she loved you more than anyone in the world. She looked you like a loving baby looks at her mother, like a puppy that loves you more than his own mother.


You could see in that beautiful black eye how she recognized me. In the pitch-black of her iris I knew that she loved me like a son, that she cared of me until the last moment, that she missed me even if she couldn't speak and that, If she could, she would have told me that she loved me with all her heart even at the moment of her last breath.


A moment that I couldn't be part of. A moment that my mother had to suffer alone, like the death of my grandmother. A moment that I missed and therefore I failed to one of the people that couldn't love me with more passion nor affection.


I will regret it until the end of my days like I will regret the day my grandmother died and I couldn't be with her so she could say goodbye because I was too young to see a person's death. I will regret until the end of my days that I missed the second chance to support my loving ones on their last moment.


And that will not happen again with my grandfather. He is the last close-member of my mothers family and to this day I give him all the love, support and care a 20 year-old boy can give him even with all the aspects of a busy live a kid my age would have. I go with him every Thursday to grab some Majorcan-classic breakfast and have a great shopping-walk around the local market. We go to the countryside where he has his little orchard and I help him get the planting done every season. We talk and talk and talk when we get the chance and I listen to all his songs and stories that I love to hear. I wish I had all the knowledge he has when hes not with me anymore.


He is my "friend of fatigues" , my "partner" and a true friend of mine. He knows that his grandson loves him and that he is proud of him being my grandpa.


And I will be with him at the time of his parting. I will be holding his hand, telling that I love him and that I will never forget him, kissing his forehead and begging him to not leave me.


And I will do the same with my mom. She is my best friend.


And I would love to do the same with dad... But he decided he wanted to be happy with another woman.


And I will be with all of them when they are close to the light.


And even though I am an atheist I pray for them to live longer than a thousand years.


Because I love all of my family.


Because I am made of their blood and flesh that's infused will the most warm and true love you'll ever see in your entire life.


And I will thank them with my love and time for the rest of my life.


Please, people, go and love your families a bit more. Sometimes it's difficult, but almost anything can be talked out, because they are the only people that, in most cases, will love you forever and ever no matter what happens.


Don't waste the opportunity you have everyday to thank them.

Todo esto es falso.

http://justmysafesomewhere.blogspot.com.es/2016/03/solo-un-ligero-detalle-de-mi.html?m=1

http://justmysafesomewhere.blogspot.com/2016/03/que-son-las-noches-para-mi.html

No me molesto en eliminarlo porque de lo contrario alteraría la armonía de este blog.

"Aquella blanca neblina."

"No llegarás lejos."

Me dijo, después de rechazar su amor.

"No llegarás lejos"

Me dijo, la súcubo de blanco cabello y fina pero tentadora y seductora aura.

Y allí me planté, sin mediar palabra. 

Pálido, como el más bello de los ángeles, con las pupilas dilatadas como el más oscuro de los pozos.

Sintiendo como mis pecados trepaban mi espalda mientras la más terrible de mis sombras se apoderaba de mis pensamientos.

Continuó mi vida.

Durante unos segundos.

Mientras corría por los pasillos oscuros de aquel antiguo poblado sumido en la calamidad más sangrienta y pestilente.

Sólo decorada por las ilusiones que ella, aquella bestia blanca, creaba.

Y corrí al ver aquello.

Corrí.

Corrí.

Y corrí.

Riendo y jadeando al ver lo que se devenía ante mis ojos.

Un mundo de blanca pureza y lujuria convertido en un terror antediluviano del más oscuro de los grises.

Hasta que me falló la consciencia.

Caí.

Sobre el duro y sucio cemento.

Viendo como aquel fantasma blanco se acercaba.

Lentamente.

Muy lento.

Oh, dios santo.

Fue una eternidad.

El más corto tiempo convertido en una sentencia demoníaca que ni la más robusta mente sería capaz de soportar.

Hasta que sólo unos pocos milímetros separaban mi rostro del suyo.

Ya no era un ángel.

Ya no era tentación.

Era miedo.

Un miedo de desencajada mandíbula y piel podrida.

Que ni mis dedos ni la más dura de las piedras de aquel camino de viejo pavimento podían tocar.

Y allí me planté.

Sentado.

Horripilado.

Secretamente fascinado por aquella magia conocida por aquellos hombres que no la pudieron contar.

No pude correr.

No pude huir.

No pude escapar.

Sus frías manos anclaron mi aliento.

Sus vacíos y oscuros ojos miraron mi alma.

Su helado aliento se volvió uno con el mío.

Y allí terminó todo.

Por favor, si alguien lee esto.

No vayáis tras la fina y brillante neblina.

No sigáis su rastro.

Allí solo encontraréis horror y manipulación.

Tras un manto de lujuria y perfección.

Con la muerte como único y sufrido final.

Es la súcubo blanca.

Pura y casta como la más bella de las novias.

Tan bonita que sólo las lenguas hablan de ella porque su belleza no puede medirse con la pluma.

Es el demonio más precioso que he visto jamás.

Y ha sido mi perdición.