Giovanna Spantigati

Marco, (an imaginary name), a 45 year old man I met by chance in hospital. A sad, painful story. Neurosurgery ward in Alessandria's hospital. A silent place, with continuous assistance of doctors, nurses, trainees always watching attentively but discreetly.

My father has been admitted to hospital for an operation and, next to his bed, a boy in a sort of waking coma, after a brain surgery. Marco looks much younger. He is motionless, staring at the door. I look into his big eyes, he seems calm and I would like to communicate with him. His sweet mother always arrives on time when the department opens for visits. She speaks with a smile and holds his right hand tight when she tells him: "Now I have to go, Marco .." She would like to do more, she would like to know if he is aware, when he will wake up, because she wants to take him away from there.

Marco does not seem to understand yet I smile and say a few words every now and then. He looks like a helpless child. My father improves quickly, surprisingly. Mark is always still.

Three days later he has another brain surgery and after a few hours he manages to whisper something. "It hurts ..." he says always still and staring. "Mark, you must be patient, I say with a smile" and I go near him. He is aware, and I am moved. "I'm glad you're recovering" and he tells me with an infinite sweetness, in a whisper: "I'm also glad for your dad."

Mark was caring about my dad and not about himself. Finally I realize that Marco had been watching around himself, even if his body was still, with a generous heart, with the patience of those who entrust themselves to others with gentleness and humility because they have accepted a cruel fate. My father has been discharged, but Marco is still there, always the same. Soon he will be taken to a rehabilitation center. I greet him, reluctantly, I tell him I want to see him out of there and to recover quickly. Marco, big and special eyes, wants to continue to live and love, I'll be waiting till you are out of there and we shall meet again. I've promised. My father is at home, I returned to Turin. I am writing on my pc in my room with the door opened onto the garden. It 's a sunny Sunday, the birds are singing, my dog runs and plays. But at this very moment there are so many Marco in hospitals. Give them a smile, an encouragement, a caress. They will never forget. And your heart will be filled with love.


Giovanna Spantigati