I’ve decided to always take Sundays off or at least do what I enjoy a lot at the moment, namely painting. I find, as many people say, that painting is very relaxing and that you quickly forget everything around you. A very pleasant Sunday activity. What comes out is interesting. It puzzles me and I have something to analyze. And, as I said, maybe that will bring me something for my sculptures.
Then I had a special moment at the cemetery today. I always go for a walk or bike ride on Sunday mornings, weather permitting. And today, at the end of my tour, I walked across the cemetery. There was always a grave of a little boy who just turned five years old. He was born in 1973, I was born in 71 and he died in 78. And I think I noticed at the time that he was run over by a truck in Altengroden, where I grew up. In any case, this grave was at the entrance to the cemetery and I always passed it. I always stopped there. What would have become of him later? Maybe he was like me. What happened to the mother? Although I didn’t know the boy, he somehow reminds me of myself. In moments like this you know how lucky you have been and what a great life you’ve been allowed to have.
This grave, it was there a week ago, has now been removed. You could still make out the outlines. When I left there, I turned around a few more times. I thought, okay, that was the last time. The boy was 5 and now he is finally forgotten. The exact dates will slowly disappear. Maybe there is no other family. Maybe there is a family but they don’t have any relation to the boy.
Somehow a piece of me went today too. Maybe just a remnant from childhood, because my mother used to always stand with me at the grave.