Elizabeth's Diary Entries Diary Navigation: Choose A Diary Entry -------------------- Latest Entry: 7/16/04 -------------------- 3/16/04 3/3/04 2/4/04 1/21/04 1/12/04 12/18/03 12/11/03 11/25/03 11/18/03 11/12/03 10/29/03 10/20/03 10/13/03 10/6/03 9/24/03 9/9/03 9/3/03 8/29/03 3/30/03 1/14/03 -------------------- Elizabeth's Introduction

Introduction

Sorry to be such a downer in the festive season, but so far this season has been far from merry for me.

Last week, Dima's uncle died. He was 52, just another statistic, I suppose, male life expectancy is 59 years here. His wife and two daughters had moved out and his elder daughter had told him nobody needed him. He died in agony, alone in his apartment. His daughter was wrong when she said nobody needed him. Dima's dad died when Dima was 6, and most of his childhood memories involve his dad's brother, Uncle Andrei. Dima needed him. MY Andrei needed him. They had quite a lot of contact, and my Andrei was fascinated by Uncle Andrei, the only man over the age of 50 he has ever known (his grandpa, my dad lives in Victoria, B.C. and they've only met twice). My Andrei was always worrying that his great-uncle was going to get sick because he smokes. Well, he got sick, and he died. How do I tell my 3.5 year old son about death? He keeps talking about Uncle Andrei and we have told him nothing.

Yesterday I was giving the kids dinner when my friend's mum called. One of my closest friends, Natasha, died in San Diego the day after Thanksgiving. She was 33 and she had a 9-year old daughter. Her parents got a visa to the US only 9 days after she died. They speak no English, and they don't know how she died, only that it wasn't foul play.

Natasha and I became friends at the age of 16. When she was 20, Natasha followed me to San Diego where I was studying at UCSD. We came back to Russia together for 6 months after the 1991 coup. Then back to San Diego. She ended up marrying a wealthy man, having a child and a messy divorce. When she died, legal proceedings had already been instigated by her husband for full custody of their daughter. Maybe that's what killed her, the stress that her daughter might be taken away. There are no printable words I can use to describe her ex-husband, a coke-snorting womanizing despicable scum-of-the-earth type who when they divorced got a court ruling that Natasha couldn't bring her daughter to Russia even for short vacations.

Natasha left Russia in 1992, when there was a feeling of general hopelessness and economic and social disarray. I won't try to describe it, because it was a weird and dark time. Even I would never have expected ten years ago I could be living the comfortable middle-class life I live now. For the most part, I could be anywhere in Europe. I came back to Russia, though people thought I was crazy, Natasha stayed in the US to live her American dream. Her dream turned into a nightmare, and our Russian nightmare, at least for Dima and I, into a dream.

Andrei kept asking me what was wrong, and the whole conversation with Natasha's mum, I was trying to avoid words like "death" so Andrei wouldn't worry, though by my face and my tears he knew something was wrong.

When can a kid understand death? I remember when I understood what death was. I was 4 or 5 years old and a bird flew into the window of our house and died. I saw it happen and was really upset. It was alive and then it was dead. My mom had a funeral procession down the street, and practically every kid around followed behind me and my mom, who was carrying the bird on a plywood board. It was my first experience with death.

Tomorrow is Natasha's memorial service (her parents had her cremated in the States and brought the ashes back here) and wake. Usually in Russia, we have open casket funerals, which I always thought was really weird and gross. Now I am older and I understand why. At Uncle Andrei's funeral last week, we saw him one last time. He looked very peaceful. It's easier to say goodbye that way. I won't ever see Natasha again.

Goodbye Uncle Andrei. Goodbye Natasha.

Lisa