A book

There’s this book that’s really something. ‘What has no name’  by Piedad Bonnet.

It’s about how a mother reads and comprenhends her son’s suicide as a search for peace and freedom, and it’s based on what really happened. I don’t know how many books may talk about real cases like this one, but I really think this author has a lot to say. Her son was sick, he suffered squizofrenia, but even if you can’t relate to that desease I think this book is worthy…

It goes like this (just a few paragraphs):

Daniel died in New York the 14th of may of 2011, at one and ten minutes of the afternoon. He had just turn twenty eight years old and had been studing a masters degree for about ten months at Columbia University. Renata, my older dauther, gave me the news on the phone two hours latter, with four words, the first one, pronounced with a doubting voice, knowing the horror that it would untie on the other side of the line, was, of course, mom. The other three related, without trimmings or pitty lies, the facts, the simple and plain data that communicated that someone you deeply love has gone forever, and he is not ever going too look at us, nor is he going to smile at us again.

In this cases, tragic and surprising, language takes us to a reality mind cannot comprenhend. Before asking my daughter about the details, and surrending to indagation, my words denied it once and again, in a little baby cry without sense. But the streinght of the facts has no answer: ‘Daniel kill himself’ just means that, just points an event irreversible in time and space, that nobody can change with a metaphore or with a different narration.