LITTLE GIRL

 

When I remember my own death, I start to cry, and my tears are diamonds that adorn the ravaged, human earth with their beauty. But after a moment, I smile at the blazing sun and give thanks that my life ended this way and not another.

I'll tell you my story. It's the story of an ordinary person who loved helping others, because the most beautiful thing one can do in life is to help others.

I lived in a big city. It's a home to people I no longer belong to, but until recently, I lived among them and shared every day with them. The city is a special place. When you look at the streets of your city, you'll see people rushing to work every morning to earn a living. But there are also others who wake up every morning to survive until sunset.

Have you met such people? Have you ever noticed even one of them while walking down the street? They're everywhere. They look us in the eye, smile, sometimes cry, and their hands, outstretched in a gesture of supplication, ask for a piece of bread or a symbolic penny that will help them survive.

But as we rush to work, we forget about them, because our minds are filled with our own problems, and there's no room for others. That space is becoming increasingly scarce.

I met someone along the way who needed help. It was a little girl.

Whenever I think of her, I begin to pray to my Creator, who gave me life to do good. Whenever I think of that little girl, I remember her little voice and her arms stretched out toward me in a gesture of supplication. That sign symbolized everything: suffering, supplication, hunger, and fragile hope.

She stood alone in the street, dirty and emaciated, tears streaming from her eyes. That face cannot be simply forgotten. It was the face of a child who had lost all hope.

"Do you have a piece of bread? For me and for my mother. We are very hungry." Sir, I really would like just a piece of bread.

I didn't know what to say. Is the bread that most of us throw in the trash because it's covered in a layer of mold after a few days a symbol of survival for others? Is this how the world should be? "

Come on, little one, I'll buy bread for you and your mom. We'll buy two loaves, butter, and a jar of jam," I said, almost in tears, and we went into the store to do our shopping.

As we left the store, the girl hugged me tightly, squeezing my sweater, and said,

"Thank you. You're a good man. I've been standing here since morning, asking everyone to help me. But everyone avoids me. My legs hurt from standing so much."

When I looked at her bare feet, I felt my heart clench with regret. Those little, bare feet were dirty, the skin raw. Where are this child's parents? For a moment, I cursed not only the unjust world, but especially the parents of this little girl and their irresponsibility.

"Come," I said, "I'll buy you some shoes. There's a little shop here," I pointed, "choose which ones you want, okay?"

Her lips, parted in a slight smile, were the most wonderful gift she could give me. So, as she chose her shoes, I stood and stared out the shop window, seeing the world a little differently today than usual. Today I helped a man who needed help. That's a truly great gift.

When I turned around, the girl was gone. She disappeared like the morning mist, and I stood paralyzed with fear, but then I calmed down a bit and paid the saleswoman for the shoes.

I went to work happier than ever. The next time I see that little girl, I'll buy her something else. And I won't forget her mother.

But that day, everything changed.

That day, I was on the bus back home, but I never made it back. An accident on the street landed me in the hospital, in a coma.

When I think back to that accident today, I laugh at the fragility of human life. We constantly do everything we can to climb the ladder of life. It's not a bad thing; after all, that's what we were created for. But what good are our efforts if we are all equal in the face of death?

I remember clearly lying on the operating table, while a group of doctors tried to revive me. I wasn't afraid, I felt nothing. Everything was one vast, pleasant dream from which there was no return. At the very end of that dream, I saw a white tunnel, and within it, clouds against a blue sky, toward which I was heading.

When a person dies, they realize they've already experienced everything, and that's when they gain life's experience.

The doctors didn't help me. They couldn't help me because I was only human. It wasn't they who failed, nor did the equipment that showed the thin white line on the monitor, symbolizing my life. No one did. This is what death feels like.

I don't know when I found myself among the fluffy clouds, watching a vast, colorful rainbow bloom above my head. I only know that I was flying like a bird, feeling a freedom I could never experience on earth. Where I was? It didn't really matter.

Among the clouds, I came across a very tiny one, on which sat a girl with shoes.

She smiled at me and waved. I flew to her, and together we sat on a slightly larger cloud. She took my hand in her small hand.

"Thank you for everything you've done for me."

"Please," I replied, and looked at the slightly ajar gates of Paradise. "Is this my new Home?"

"Yes," she said with the sincerity in her voice so characteristic of a small child, and after a moment added, "It takes so little to be happy."

"Yes. You're right. So little...

I was happy."