My father, Nick Aivaliotis died in August of 2002 in Canada. He died of cancer. He worked hard all his life as a Greek immigrant to Canada and loved Toronto. However his heart was always in Greece. I wanted to write something here about him but could never compose the right words. At his funeral in his hometown of Glikovrisi, one of his friends gave a speech that summarized his live.. the following is the translated text which is dedicated to his memory and all other immigrants who's hearts are divided:
Nick, beloved friend.
Today we accompany you, relatives, friends and fellow townspeople on your eternal trip, after the most tiring and bitter trip of your life on earth. Because of our friendship and admiration of your unique traits that adorned your character, personality and your entire life, I dedicate a few words because you were always a friend of the spoken word and dialectic conversation.
We are all sad now because we won't have dialog with you. These few words are for me a painful monologue without your positions and logical and concious opposition.
Nick,
born from a large family, one of those that support Greek society. You took the big decision of your life in the 50s to follow the flow of immigrants leaving the country. It was then that the progressive youth of your village, because progress had not begun yet in this place, searched for progress and well being under foreign skies, far away from our land.
It was this vast friendly country of Canada that gave you the chance via hard and honest work to progress on a humane and logical scale. However, most of your sweat, together with your gentle hearted spouse, was invested in the land of your origin.
There in Toronto you created your family. You had your two sons. You did the best for the well being and happiness of your family. And together with you, your wife, your children and your relatives, we too were happy for you.
That large grove with the orange trees that you loved, we loved and cherished it with you as a work of creation.
Nick,
It's been said that a poet divides themselves in two. However, it would be more true to say that the soul, the heart, the mind the actual life of an immigrant is also divided in two. Isn't that how you loved to analyze and discuss things; with your calm voice; the voice of the calm but not common society?
Nick,
you too did not escape this rule. In fact, you went even further. You split death in half. You left your last breath in that beautiful city of Toronto, and your body will rest in your homeland. This way, the orange trees of Glikovrisi will give your grave an aroma whenever they are in bloom.
The sound of death is painful, however it becomes painless when the deciesed has paid lifes debts and carries with him virtues.
Nick, we who accompany you in your stern trip, your beloved wife, Michael and in mind from Toronto, Konsta, Laura and Merlyn, your many relatives and friends, will remember and memorialize you for as long as we live. It's the least we can do for you.
Have a good trip, you will be remembered forever...
