From You

The entrance of the most vivid and beautiful scenes in our childhood memories was the arrival of the yellow Ford truck at the village. Holidays would truly begin when that yellow Ford arrived. My blue-eyed, smiling uncle, the kindest-hearted man in the world, would arrive at the village with the Denizli branch of our clan, all piled into that truck. That yellow truck, which was actually the portrait of happiness, could have been my end when I was 5 or 6 years old, and these lines would never have existed. Because we loved traveling in the truck so much, my uncle would let us hop in even when he was just going somewhere nearby in the village. One day when we went to the town center, my uncle pulled the handbrake and got out to go to the grocery store. After a while, as I was curiously playing with the handbrake, it released, and the truck began rolling downhill. There was a cliff to the right, and there was no way for me to stop the truck. Hearing or seeing the truck move, my uncle came running; he managed to open the door and jump inside. I probably haven’t experienced such fear again since that moment. This angel of a man didn’t yell at me or say a single mean word; he even made me laugh to calm me down. Three or four years after this incident, the best man in the world for me became an angel and left us.

At that age, it was impossible for me to understand that he had left a copy of himself behind. That is, until I saw his daughter, blue-eyed, blonde, and about the same height as my uncle, on a red municipal (EGO) bus in Ankara. The woman sitting there with her one-year-old son, who had long eyelashes and was tucked into a tiny white coat, had come to Ankara to guide us. There was no way for us to know back then how important a role the eldest grandchild of the Günay family would play in all of our lives. Living through those years with the strongest woman I have ever known was far more valuable than studying at METU, becoming an engineer, or anything else you could imagine. I can deeply understand Özgür’s devotion to his mother because we witnessed those years. To be able to continue one’s existence without using a single negative word about an event or a person despite all the hardships and struggles, one must be an angel; so it turns out my sister Havva was an angel all along. You can only realize this when looking back.

I have known two people who were the embodiment of love and kindness: Adil Günay and his daughter Havva Günay Alp.

I doubt there is a single grandchild among us who, knowing my sister Havva, hasn’t thought, “I wonder what Havva would do?” Her reflection in my mind keeps me away from bad thoughts and negative energy. Think positive; she must have her own reason for doing that; don’t wait for her, you be the one to call, you take the step.

That beautiful soul who bound me to her even more by saying, “It’s okay, you are busy, your mind is occupied,” whenever I said, “Sister, you are always the one calling, I feel ashamed.”

My uncle left us physically at the age of 42, and my sister Havva at 62. Though they are not physically visible, their spirits wander within my thoughts. My greatest wish is for these two angels, who I say continue to live within me, to remain there forever.

My dear sister, just as my uncle, your father, whom I lost 40 years ago remains so clear and peaceful in my mind, your presence will be just as clear and joyful for as long as I live. My mind now paints the image of you and my uncle intertwined, as one. We often say, “I hope you found each other wherever you went,” but the image of you together in my mind is the proof that you have indeed reunited. Just like that yellow truck coming to the village, the intertwined image of you both in my head gives me a great sense of peace.

Perhaps I never said “I love you” while we were together, but I loved you so much that my only consolation is that you continue to live on with me.