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“We’ve been to the British Grand Prix a few times. Last year we went to the Austrian Grand Prix and combined it with visiting my Oma… I mean my grandmother. The previous years we traveled to the German, French and Spanish ones. They are so much fun.”
He chuckles, enjoying my exuberance. We talk more about fast cars and Formula One, and he asks me many more questions about the ins and outs of my job. I love that he’s showing so much interest and I love even more talking about it.
There’s a moment of silence before Tiero changes the subject. “How did you lose your parents?”
That subject still hits a raw nerve and I turn somber, the happiness from moments ago forgotten.
“They both died in a car accident when I was twenty. It had been a week of rain and there was water everywhere. My parents were on their way home from their weekly date night when a car in the oncoming traffic hydroplaned. The driver lost control and crashed into them, pushing their car off the road. They hit a tree and were killed instantly.”
The memories still hurt, even after all these years.
They say‘Time heals all wounds’.They, whoever they may be, are wrong. Some wounds never heal, the ache just dulls, but it’s always there.
“I fell into a black hole with all of my family gone in one swoop. If it wasn’t for Rhia and her family looking after me, and the puppies to cheer me up, I don’t know what I would have done.”
“You were close with your parents?” The question comes out more like a statement.
I see my ma and da’s smiling faces. Our small family was always their priority.
“Yes, the three of us were tight-knit. We talked about everything, and they were always there for me. Not having that love and support anymore is the hardest thing.”
“Were there no relatives to support you during that time?”
“Sadly not. Just like me, my parents were only children. My dad’s parents died a few years before the accident. The only one left is my Oma and she lives in Austria. My mum was Austrian. Oma developed dementia in recent years and is not doing so well. She’s in a home and doesn’t recognize me anymore. I rarely see her now.”
Tiero takes my hand and strokes it lightly. Looking deeply into my eyes, he says, “I’m sorry for your loss. I know the pain never goes away fully.”
He looks out onto the moonlit sea as the waves crash onto the shore. “I lost my parents, too.”
Oh, he truly understands then. I immediately feel closer to him.
“I’m so sorry, Tiero.” I cover his hand with my other one and squeeze lightly.
“Do you mind me asking what happened?”
He returns my hand squeeze before staring into space. “My mother died shortly after giving birth to my sister. She was a stillborn.”
“Oh my God, that’s awful. How old were you?”
“I was eight and Mateo had just turned six. My father was devastated. He was never the same after her death and never remarried. He always said that my mother was the love of his life and nobody could measure up to her.
“She was a wonderful woman. Amor di madre, amore senza limiti.… a mother’s love has no limits. That was her. In her eyes, we could do no wrong. Even the mistakes we made were only ever learning opportunities.”
“She sounds amazing. Did you have any aunties or grandmothers to look after you?”
“My nonna looked after Mateo and I when papà was working, but she was already quite old and didn’t quite know how to deal with two rowdy young boys. We got away with too much.”
“And your papà? Were you close with him?”
Tiero pauses for a moment before answering. “I learned a lot from my father. He was a great mentor. Firm but fair.”
Hmm, that’s a rather diplomatic response—one that doesn’t really answer my question. Or maybe it does.
Did Tiero’s father close himself off from his children after his wife’s death? I’ve heard stories of children looking so much like their mother, the father couldn’t cope with the constant reminders of what he’d lost and sent them off to boarding school. Did something similar happen here?
“What’s the greatest lesson you learned from your papà?” My question has him smile, and he caresses my hand that’s still resting in his.
His eyes locked on mine, he says, “The love he unwaveringly held for my mother… He always told me to wait for my One.”
