The wind has swept away the last leaf, and now my eyes see beyond the visible ...
I see your picture, and the murmur of the wind I hear the echoing sound of your laughter.
your soul, and '.. the same between the light emanating your honest eyes, full of life.
Before me now see endless horizons, plays melodies unknown to me ...
understand things incomprehensible to me ...
The wind has swept away the last leaf ... but remember your not ...
and 'attached to my heart ...
And I 'will remain' forever.
These words may seem the usual cliches, the same anecdotes, which in these cases, they say, perhaps even in a distracted , say some nice words for the occasion. This time, however, the desire to express something and really felt that from the depths of the heart, could not be more real.
The terrible, though not unexpected news of the painful death of Maximus, as he ripped the bottom of a painting, a misfortune that we never wanted to hear or see.
Massimo was not only friends and family, but it was the true representation of a life haunted by awareness of the serious illness, and at the same time as the great strength of mind to try to overwhelm with force the stoic terrible evil, which is not only destroys you physically but also psychologically and morally.
Massimo addressed from the outset, the new struggle against the great evil with all his strength enhanced by the bigger news that a man can have, the birth of a child.
from great joy to the greatest distress.
We can not imagine what the least may it be passed by the mind in those early months of illness and then, with more resignation, until last night.
The dream was there to witness as we can and must love life and all that is around it, even if consciously short and painful.
I am sure that Heaven has opened its doors, in fact they have removed to accommodate a host of Massimo and candid souls have welcomed him to the Lord's presence.
His great suffering on earth, His brevity of earthly life, His love for the family, for others far away, for your work, could not and can not be that best calling card to reach the sky.
My fondest memory of Maximus, and of course to his happiest moments was meeting him almost every morning when he went to work on his bicycle, riding without hands on the handlebars with his arms folded on his chest, maybe whistling a tune, and greet me with a wave of his hand. I reciprocated with a "Hello Massimo, a nice day" both unaware that soon our early morning ritual would have had a forthcoming order.
unthinkable, unbelievable, inconceivable, unbelievable.
want to remember him, Massimo, peaceful and happy as well as at major dinners Oreste Santa Anna and Mum, even the great among the repatriated children, grandchildren and other relatives, to enjoy the fabulous fish soup at home, laughing and jokes, butt of consumer jokes left and right, brother, sister, or niece of the moment.
One last memory is of the greatest artists in restoring engines and motorbikes, scooters and vintage, with a unique ability, as a true lover, often with his brother Titian. A great love that the engine had approached him first as a boy in the garage of the house, then by Cyrus, and finally in the garage of the sparrows, to work for him was above all passion.
Hello Massimo, you'll always be in our thoughts, our prayers, and example to us all.
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