#readyforwhatwillcome
Museum item: Sword, Vukovac type, 15th century.
Digital item: Sword of a Japanese Samurai
Donor of digital item: Aca Todorović
Note from donor:
The Twilight Samurai
My father and I are sitting in the room after his return from hospital where he received chemotherapy. We cover various topics including what cake we could buy to “celebrate” my birthday the following day. He gets up, says, “I’m going to go lie down. Buy something made with chocolate.” My eyes follow him, he takes a few steps then grabs for the door knob, stops and falls in the hallway.
A heart attack.
I run to him, I somehow know what to do in these situations. I place him in the recovery position, and call the ambulance. They arrive quickly and we head for the E.R. I hold his hand the whole way. They put him in intensive care. I tell my sister what is going on. I wait, call everybody and inform them. There is a great chance that he won’t survive the night. The nurses come out and tell me say good-bye to him. I kiss his forehead and tell him:
“See you tomorrow. For my birthday I just want you to live.” Through a painful half-smile he says, “go.”
After the whirlwind of what just occurred my girlfriend invites me over to her place to keep my mind off things, as all I can do now is wait. While at her place she goes up to the kitchen for a few minutes and comes back with a huge birthday cake in the shape of a medieval shield. It took her the whole day to make it. As she sets it down before me I see the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen in my life, with her eyes full of love. She pulls from her pocket a small shield with same motif as the cake, a gift from her mother.
She says “I hope that this will improve your day, at least a little bit. I know you’ve always wanted this.” A Samurai short sword with a futuristic design that reminds me of the light saber from Star Wars – a gift for my birthday. My eyes were probably full of tears, and I made a stupid smile on my face. She pored us wine and we waited for morning. She’s probably never going to know, even though I told her how much that moment meant to me, that she symbolically armed me that night for any future troubles and battles that await me.
Dad survived the night, the next day he was transferred to semi-intensive care and my wish was somewhat, at least briefly fulfilled. He died three months later. We fought to the end and spent that time together.
Thanks for everything dad. I miss you terribly. I’m finishing everything we talked about.
In Memory of Slavoljub Todorović – Džigi (16.11.1949-28.6.2017)