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  • My dad had run for mayor in that little town he used to live since 1990s and had lost the election. He was already the mayor, but people in town had preferred other kind of management so he was not the chosen one again. And I have reasons to suspect of who exploded his car in front of the City Hall - to scandalize the locals and bring us moments of terror, grief and despair. That was a time of huge expenses, many debts due to electoral time, and soon we would find out that that kind of happening wasn't covered by the insurance. The car was destroyed, but he sent it to repair as a signal that he would survive that event.

    In the gloomy post-election November weekend I was trying again a hard sleep at dad's house. He was a doctor mayor, and how he was only a doctor - what pleased me as a relief. Those weeks were days in which I had to help him face the lots of betrayals, helpers who tried to suck him and his resources completely. Moreover I was the stranger in dad's house, watching him get dejected and facing relatives wanting to use me only to help him up, then being discarded as an unwanted person there who should leave the place for them to "take care of him". Resuming, I was the hidden enemy by my own people, being watched in a bad sight and distrust by everyone around,

    Alone at home, someone came to tell me dad was hospitalized. The stressful time he had with many disgusting happenings and facing rivals and enemies coming closer, and all the succession of bad events to come made him fall in a faint in the hospital where he was observing his own patients. That was his luck, fainting still when he was in the hospital; if it had happened in another place, he probably wouldn't be helped in time, for the strong septic shock he suffered. Then he was internee in an ITU for some days. Some few "closer" people could be with him before me and tried to prepare me for something worst.

    In that ITU room he spent three days before he could go to a private room where he shouldn't receive visitors - so what? His politician fellows feared he wouldn't survive and there was no rest in his room. Some went there to give news of rivals' slights and show their own "extreme supports", and others entered the room only to bring him bunches and bunches of documents to sign under our familiar constraint. It was clear for everybody that dad had became a general who should privilege his army to death; personal issues like his survival, health or family weren't priorities. And after all, I was his nosy and inconvenient distant daughter who appeared to claim what I didn't help to make grow.

    But hope appeared: as soon as he was left alone for a few minutes in his room, he called his driver. Silently he dressed up, took the saline equipment in his hand and attached to some band-aids he left the hospital to another hospital where one of his patients was internee after a surgery made the Saturday before dad's hospitalization; "I was worried because he didn't know what was happening for the doctor to disappear! I can't neglect a patient!", he would try explain later to his flabbergasted family, friends and doctors. He received a deserved reprimand, and I, as daughter, listened to his diagnose and asking from his doctor to have a serious conversation to dad.

    Today we can smile for that runaway moment, for nothing worse have happened. Dad's style is still the same stubborn way, but getting hate messages and threats of death and being betrayed besides the strong political persecution of our family made usI grow older closer, but in hardships. He'd learned that he has a few friends - what he didn't believe before - while I became more diffident than I've ever felt, prone to aloneness and avoidant.
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