My muse on film (Patreon)

Lolita

Yesterday, just before meditation, I accidentally saw in someone’s stories that one of my models and photographers I worked with had lost her husband.

At first, there was shock. Then the thought that it must be some horrible joke. And then the realization that no one jokes like that.

A lot of questions appeared in my head right away – how did it happen, what exactly happened, where, when. But very quickly all of these questions simply disappeared. Because, if I’m honest, what difference does it make – how? There is a fact. There is an outcome. And everything else no longer matters.

What matters is the pain and the emptiness of the people who are left behind. What those close to him are feeling. And I think that’s exactly what put me into a state of stupor. I didn’t even know him personally, but the news still shook something deep inside me.

There is something else that feels especially unsettling to me. When someone dies in a war, as painful and devastating as it is, there is at least a tragic awareness that this possibility exists. Somewhere deep inside, you know it can happen.But when a person simply leaves home and never comes back, when death is random and accidental, the shock feels different. The fact remains the same, the pain of loss is just as strong, maybe even equally unbearable. But the element of complete unpredictability makes the world feel even more fragile. In her case, there was no warning at all. Just a sudden rupture.

I lay down to meditate and tried to stay in the process. But every time I was supposed to feel or recall the idea of some all-encompassing presence - the one that loves us, protects us, knows each of us from birth and wants the best for us - my mind and my whole body started resisting.

Because how can such a force allow this?How can it exist alongside events like this?

I feel deeply sad for my model. Just in June we met, worked together, and she showed her ring, smiling, saying that they had only recently gotten married.....Six months - and that’s it.

I have thought about death a lot before. I analyzed it, lived through it, tried to accept it. And it felt like, in some way, I had learned to coexist with this idea. But news like this always brings me back into a state of instability and non-acceptance. Not panic - but fragility.

And in that moment, I remembered a film that once helped me believe in life and closeness again. A film that helped me move from grief into a gentle melancholy and nostalgia. I don’t remember its name, but I remember one scene.

There was a woman in her sixties traveling in her motorhome who stopped somewhere in the desert, at a campsite. Around her were other vehicles - couples, people on vacation. She was alone. And when people asked her why she was there, she answered, “I’m waiting for a friend.” I won’t spoil what comes next.

But at the end of the film, there was one thought that supported me deeply back then. About not waiting for the perfect moment, the right words, or absolute certainty. About how even if something doesn’t last forever – it doesn’t make it any less meaningful.

Because any time – even very short – lived in closeness, joy, and presence with another person already has value.

And even if losing someone hurts deeply – would we really want to erase those meetings, that experience, that shared time completely?The answer, I think, will be different for everyone.