Gida, I have come to say goodbye to you properly. I've been thinking about you. About when you were small. You were so lifely you could run as swiftly as the wind. You were like quicksilver. But then before I knew it, you stopped running here and there and everywhere. You became still. At 12 years old, you had the calmness and stillness of a fine woman. What children you would have produced. What joy that would have brought to all of us.
Dear child, Gida, you are not gone because you are always in my heart. They say a man must love his sons more. But a man can be jealous of his sons. And his daughter can always be the light in his heart. I know very well that you are with the Gods. But I will wait here a while. And if you want to come and talk to me then come and talk. And I will gently stroke your long and beautiful hair once again, with my peasant hand.