On the 23rd was Iusti’s 56th birthday.

“I remember being woken up by my parents and then my father taking me in his arms to the living room. The sofa was full of presents, a puzzle, crayons and sparkly stuff that a soon to be seven year old could only adore. I was surprised, Santa wasn’t supposed to come for another few days. Then I saw him and I was utterly fascinated. Not the Santa you would imagine: tall, dark haired, young, smiling and very charming. My parents told me who he was, that he had been close to us before moving to Canada and that he was always around for the first three years of my life. Although I don’t think I remembered any of the things they told me, I felt safe around him and I liked him very much. Only a few days ago did I remember that on that evening I stayed in his arms for a long time. I liked him, he made me feel special, he made me laugh, he made me feel like a princess. This is my first memory of Iusti, the charming Santa who surprised my parents and I the first time he came home from Canada, after his departure four years earlier. I have a vague recollection of how happy my parents were and how joyful everything seemed. It felt like home. This is how I will remember him: charming, tall, joyful, bringing the best out of the ones surrounding him, protective, generous, kind and funny, in one word: HOME.”

This is the message I wrote for his funeral two months ago. I was in Greece with my mother and we received from his family the link for the live stream of the service. I knew how important Iusti was for my parents and I wanted to honor somehow his memory and their thirty year old friendship. So I wrote the message and sent it to his wife, asking her if it could be read by someone during the service. And there was also the desire for people to know how dear he was to me.

For as long as I can remember, Iusti was there. My father met him at university and they soon became good friends. Both very smart, both much in love with reading and talking about books, both making jokes and both living in the university dorms, it was easy for them to bond. For a couple of years after uni they took their separate ways, only to meet again in Brașov in their late twenties. It was the 90’s so no cellphones or social media was available. You just bumped into your friends on the streets or you called them at home. Iusti became a regular at my parents’ house, they played cards, drank wine made by my grandpa, chatted and laughed a lot. Then I came along. Iusti called me “iubita” and I replied with “ubutu”.

My mom told me how sad she was when he told them he was moving to Canada. She cried and begged him not to go. I was almost three then so I don’t remember this part of the story too well.

Before my seventh birthday he surprised us all, just a few days before Christmas. That’s the story I wrote for the service. From then on, I remember. I remember his kindness, his generosity, his funny way of telling every story, his loud voice, his laugh, his interest towards me, his presence.

I think I will always remember that Tuesday my dad called to tell me what happened. How it was an accident. How he was tubing on some river in Canada. How he could not be saved. I could feel the hurt in his voice. We had seen Iusti just a month earlier and so it felt unreal. He was there, laughing and eating and telling stories and just enjoying life. And now he was gone. I cried and I cried and I cried. The following day I was sitting on the balcony, just thinking of him. Outside, some kids were playing and started to shout out each other’s names. “Iustiiiin! Iustiiin!” I heard one of them calling another. What were the chances? Maybe Iusti knew I was thinking of him and wanted to give me a sign that’s he’s also thinking of me.

As kids, we never think of our parents or friends or protectors as mortal. Especially when they make you feel so safe, when they live life to the fullest, when you see them enjoying every bite of food and sip of wine, when they laugh so loud the room seems to shake, especially then, they seem immortal.

Thank you, Iusti, for showing me how to enjoy life and how to be carefree. Thank you for surprising me on my birthday. Thank you for being my parents’ friend. Thank you for caring. In my mind, you are alive. In my stories, you are present. In my heart, you are loved.