TIRO

I wish I’d had the courage to live a life true to myself,

not the life others expected of me.

For all the new life and goodness that this Macedonian spring has provided – puppies, bouquets of fresh flowers, baby chicks, and the return of gelato stands to the streets of Bitola – there is one life that is fading.  And I would trade all the goodness of this glorious spring for an endless winter if it meant that I could have him back, alive and well.

The first time I met him, it was a crisp December day when the chill of winter could still be momentarily alleviated by a ray of sunshine, and thus outside temperatures were often a few degrees warmer than the mind-numbing cold within our houses.    Sure enough, Tiro was sitting outside on a wooden chair near the willow tree in the middle of the yard, strategically warming himself in a beam of early afternoon sunshine as I returned home from work.  Already bundled up, I decided it was time to meet the neighbors with whom I share a plot of land.  I walked the twenty feet into their yard and first approached the pretty, blonde woman who looked to be in her early forties, chopping wood near the small, red brick house constructed in old Macedonian style.  She introduced herself as Rosa, daughter of Tiro and Vaska (78 and 77 years old, respectively).  I had often seen Rosa’s parents out in their yard, sitting or working, or gathering jugs of water from the pump outside my house.  As I glanced over at Tiro soaking up the sunbeam in his chair, he seemed to be lost in thought.  He was wearing his usual navy-blue jacket and army-green pants with black rubber boots.  Up-close, his dark, sun-kissed face, framed by a full head of white hair (and moustache), foretold long years of hard work and gave him an aura of Macedonian wisdom that slightly intimidated me.  In hind-sight I find it interesting how hesitant (or fearful) I was to interact with my neighbors and my only regret now is that I hadn’t reached out sooner. 

Upon clasping my outstretched hand and registering my feeble attempt at a Macedonian greeting that day, Tiro’s preoccupied expression broke into unexpected, delightful laughter that can only be described as a crescendoing squeal of pure delight:

“aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!...”

His outcry hung in the air as it both caught me off guard and warmed my heart.  I couldn’t help but laugh aloud too.   He vigorously shook my hand as our laughter continued; perhaps he laughed  in utter disbelief upon discovery that an American woman would be residing on his family’s plot of land for 2 years, and me – in utter disbelief of the joy this man was bringing me simply by being himself.  Throughout the rest of the winter, I often bumped into Tiro walking along our shared driveway on my way to work.  He was either returning from the store with loaves of fresh bread in his cloth bag, or heading into the village center to stir up some trouble.  Upon every encounter he would ask me what I was doing, and whatever my response, he would tell me that I MUST go and study Macedonian.    

Perhaps my favorite encounter with Tiro was the afternoon I found him bustling around the large field attached to my yard, sorting through piles of junk and debris that had accumulated over the 2 years since the field was last planted.  Once again, I had just returned from work at the Municipality when I went out to see what he was doing.  I was greeted with “Why are only the old people working?  Why aren’t the young people working?”   He didn’t need to tell me twice, I ran into the house and put on some old clothes, happy to finally put to use my ol’ steel-toe work boots I used for wild land fire-fighting almost ten years ago.  I spent several days helping Tiro drag debris across the field, making piles for assorted metal, broken wood fences, junk and organic waste.  Throughout those days, Tiro became a mentor, scolding me when I got too close to potential hazards such as thorny branches and rusty nails, and making sure I didn’t over exert myself.  He taught me new Macedonian phrases like “be careful” and “watch out.”  Little did he know I was once a wild land firefighter used to long days of hard-work outdoors, and even if he did know, I don’t think he’d believe it.  In his eyes, I was like a child.  To me, he was like a grandpa.  I was already making plans in my head for the months to come, envisioning him teaching me how to plant crops in the field we had just cleaned up, among other things like raising chickens and making Rakia.  Tiro and I finished off the field work by setting the organic waste pile on fire.  I even got out of bed early that morning just to go help him with the bonfire.

Several days after working together in the field, Tiro had a stroke that has left him both paralyzed and with memory loss.  He no longer knows who I am.  I paid a visit last week to his house, where his daughter is providing round-the-clock care.  While he did not remember me, his face lit up as I re-introduced myself.  As I explained to him how he used to gently scold me every day about learning Macedonian (and that I am therefore studying hard), he replied with a delighted “BRAVOSSSSS!”  I was grateful to see a flicker of his exuberance remains, despite a bleak outlook.  The doctors do not anticipate a recovery; he has been given a few bed-ridden weeks or months to live.  L Fortunately my parents were able to meet him, albeit through Skype.  It was early evening that first day I worked with Tiro in the field.  I had to leave early for a Skype session with my parents, and feeling bad for leaving, I walked my laptop out to the field where Tiro was still working.  Upon seeing my parents waving to him from in the computer, he let out that same exuberant squeal of laughter as his face lit up with a huge grin and he attempted to shake hands with my parents through the computer.  I wish dearly that I could have recorded it, alas, the memory of Tiro’s great presence in this world will have to remain in the memory of all those who met him.  Tiro contributed greatly to my happiness here: by simply being himself.  He was sunshine and warmth for my soul during this difficult winter.

Death, among other fears such as spiders and weight-gain, has crept back into my life.  Those many hours I spent staring at the wall this winter were opportunity for all the fears and old wounds I’ve been running from to catch up with me again.  And so I face them, all of them, uncomfortable as it may be.  I hope to find the lesson within each fear, to welcome it as a friend (thanks for the wisdom, Auntie Carole).  What is it these fears have to teach me?  Just this past week I’ve managed to let (somewhat) go of my fear of spiders.  Rather than disgustedly squishing the seemingly (or actual) endless migration of spiders in my house, I’ve begun catching them with jars and setting them free outside (away from my house).  I’ve even allowed a select few to reside in ceiling corners, so long as they don’t move too close to where I habitate.  It’s been surprising good for my soul.  As for the fear of death and pondering the meaning of existence (a terrifying fear of not being in control of this ginormous, mystifying universe or of our fate as humans, that has plagued me for better or worse the past 16 years), that one is taking more time to process; most likely a lifelong process.   I guess this is where faith usually steps in.  However, I did come across an interesting article about the top 5 regrets of the dying, in which an Australian nurse recorded the most common regrets of the palliative patients she worked with in their last 12 weeks of life.  Reading these “regrets” has been an intriguing reflection point for me, and I see them as lessons for my own life.  Fortunately Macedonian culture has been conducive as I make needed refinements, such as not working so hard and finding the courage to live a life true to myself.  In closing, I share with you the 5 regrets of the dying, that they may inspire you to live a life without regret.

Regret 1: I wish I’d had the courage to live a life true to myself, not the life others expected of me.

Regret 2: I wish I hadn’t worked so hard.

Regret 3: I wish I’d had the courage to express my feelings.

Regret 4: I wish I had stayed in touch with my friends.

Regret 5: I wish that I had let myself be happier.

The link to the article is here if you wish to read more: http://www.guardian.co.uk/lifeandstyle/2012/feb/01/top-five-regrets-of-the-dying

May you find that exuberance within yourself that Tiro shared with me.

Lots of love,

Hana