We are in each other’s lives and I imagine that being human possibly means more than just altruism.

When I was a child and delicious or remarkable dishes were on the table, mom would immediately begin saying: “Oh my, bring a slice of this to your aunt Fetiye,” or “don’t finish that, leave some for your uncle Muharrem.” Despite dad’s subtle teasing, mom would carry on in the same way: “Karoğlan would love this so leave a plate for him. And I have already set aside a leg for uncle Memiş so take that over to him before it gets cold.”

Are you aware that whenever you put something delicious in your mouth the first thing that comes to mind tells you who you are?

*

Dad is now bedridden and in the late stages of Parkinson’s. Mom was kneeling down to pray beside him when she noticed he wasn’t making a sound. “I said hello … ‘Mevlüt,’ I said, ‘Mevlüt.’ No answer. I went over to him. Took his hands, they were cold. So be it, they are always cold … But his mouth was clenched. No breath. That’s when I knew. Then I remembered you were eating mantı. I went to the door and I called the nurse. Don’t tell my son. Let him finish his mantı fırst, then tell him. He’s crazy about his dad, he’ll come running, and he won’t finish eating.”

When you see your friend gently crying when you tell him the story of how your mother quietly waited beside your late father so that you could finish eating; or when you take a bite of food and realize you can’t swallow; or if you feel the need to breathe in the scent of your son in a country where mothers are burying their sons one after the other then you have begun to notice the lives of others. And that’s also a good thing. For now …

11

A Drop of Water