Written piece
One Grief, many Flags
Doris Baldacchino
Malta
About this piece
Grief for the loss of a dear one pertains to all of us, whatever our creed. Right now the world is loosing too many of its children prematurely due to discord amongst nations. Please make it stop!!
One Grief, many Flags
And finally, the day dawned.
I am an orphan.
That realisation stopped me dead in my tracks and bent me over with grief.
The phone rang at exactly ten in the morning. I wasn’t expecting it. It was the hospital. The doctor said Pa wasn’t doing so well, but she had some encouraging words “He’s been worse,” she said, “but he always pulled through.” Still, she was concerned enough to call.
I was due on duty in less than two hours. What should I do?
It felt like history repeating itself. I had received a similar call only a year and twenty days earlier. That time, I hesitated, and I arrived just two hours too late.
“Go to him,” her voice whispered in my ear. I picked up the phone, made the necessary arrangements, and called an Uber. Less than an hour later, I was at his bedside.
He wasn’t doing well, but he recognised me. He nodded, clearly happy to see me. I sat with him all afternoon. Sometimes he slept; then he’d open his eyes and search for mine.
“I’m here, Pa,” I’d say softly, reassuring him. “Rest, gather your strength. You’ll be okay soon.”
He’d smile faintly, say “okay,” and drift back to sleep. His oxygen levels improved a lot while I was with him, so later that evening, it felt safe to go home.
“Good night, Pa,” I said gently. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
He nodded, smiled, and closed his eyes.
That was to be our last goodbye.
At two o'clock in the morning, the phone rang again.
“I’m sorry,” they said. And that was that.
Dean Lewis wrote a beautiful song for his ailing father: How Do I Say Goodbye. I find this song heartbreakingly apt. Because truly, how does one say goodbye?
It feels like a question that far too many people are being forced to answer these days. Mothers, fathers, sons, daughters, lost forever, taken not by the quiet course of nature but by the cruel wars raging across this beautiful Earth of ours.
Different flags may fly over these tragedies, but the pain beneath them is the same. The same stabbing heartache, the same tightness in the chest, the same breath that suddenly feels too short to carry such sorrow. Hurt has no nationality and no borders. It belongs to all of us.
Will our leaders ever learn that what truly matters in this little world of ours is PEACE FOR ALL; no matter the colour of our skin or the faith we hold?