Yarick

Yarick (23) lost his sister, father and stepmother.

‘The course of events is bizarre. Three people. All at once. I had run out to get a pack of cigarettes and returned to find three missed calls from my mother. Since she was out swimming with my other sisters, I figured they were calling to tell me they’d be home later – they always stay out longer, when they go swimming. I had no idea that call would make my world fall apart. The dining table, chair. I kicked everything over onto the floor. I remember nothing from the hours that followed. My best friend told me I had smoked twenty cigarettes, that day, July 17th. I could not recall, it was all a blur.

The first few months I found it very difficult to be in the house where my dad, his wife and my sister Milia had lived. As if they might suddenly walk in the front door. The attic, where my dad’s bedroom was, was especially devastating. The first time I climbed those stairs, my father’s best friend came with me. Afterwards, we went out on the roof terrace to smoke a cigarette. My dad’s friend looked up at the sky, speaking to my dad: ‘I will always take care of your son.’ You need people like him. You can’t to be too proud, because all this grief is impossible to handle on your own.

‘A tattoo is as everlasting as love’

My dad and I talked every day. We’d have a beer, go into town. To the movies or just hanging out together. He was my best friend and dashingly handsome. Beautiful hair, wavy and thick. I have the same hairstyle, but I use mousse. His hair fell in gentle waves. I had his face tattooed on the inside of my upper arm, with the name Milia next to it, in her handwriting, copied from her friendship book. Now that I’ve lost them, I want to find another way to keep them close. It has helped come to terms with the loss. A tattoo is not like a piece of jewellery that you can remove. It is as everlasting as love.’