The story behind the story; when my friend passed away I wrote ‘Gone to the Stars But Always in Our Hearts’

This is about a story that was the reason for one of my stories.

The story behind my story happened two years ago.

In October 2021 I received a message on Facebook that a dear friend of mine in Romania passed away.

As he was driving home in his car, he had a heart attack. He must’ve felt something was wrong as he stopped his car in front of a house and he died there. Behind the wheel and alone. He was found dead in his car by somebody that lived in that house.

Before the end of the day, police went to deliver the news to his wife, that her husband was found dead.



It was such a shock, for her and for everybody, as it was no warning and no preparation, not for his departure and not for what followed. His wife spoke with him just few hours before, when he called to tell her know that he was on his way home.

A friend of mine died and I was so sad, and I sobbed until the entire world was sad around me. 

Then it was an awful soul pain because I couldn’t really mourn his loss. The space and distance ruined any possibility for any closure.

It is really hard to say goodbye for the last time but is even harder not to have the chance to.

So, I went to do what I always do when I am hurt. The next day I wrote the story ‘Gone to the Stars But Always in Our Hearts’.

The story is about a ghost that finds a way through a typewriter to make a connection between the two worlds and brings to the living a message from the dead. 

Isn’t something that we would all want at one point in life – to have one last word with our departed?

To have the chance to say goodbye and make sure they are all right and to let them know that we will be all right. And yes, we are hurt, but we want to make them proud, and we will always remember them.

The story is part of my new collection of short stories, ‘The Catalogue: Family Affairs’ which I hope will soon be printed. In the book this particular story is accompanied by the painting ‘Flori de mucigai / Mildew Flowers’ by Cristina Grigorescu. This painting and its title are so fitting. But about that, maybe another time.

A dear friend of mine had died, and I wrote a story for him. I already knew he will always be in my heart but now I am sure that more hearts will think about him.

And here a short extract from the story:

‘'Click clack.

NO.

She ignored this response and leaned back in the chair, no longer typing. Her heart was pounding. She remained quiet for a few minutes. By itself, this time the typewriter took over and typed away, like it was having a hissy fit.

When it stopped, she took the sheet of paper out and placed it on the desk. She wanted to ignore the rows of words that filled half the page. But she could not keep her eyes away. She read the short sentences.

WHERE ARE YOU? TALK TO ME. COME BACK.

Then, again and again, the same sentences until the last lines, which were fully typed rows of Y, and the last row, one word:

PLEASE?

With trembling hands, Cristina rolled in another sheet of paper. A couple of times her fingers slipped and when she finally moved the carriage to the starting position, she froze. The bing echoed around the room – or was it in her mind? This time she pondered carefully, talked and typed at the same time, reassuring herself that it was her own will to type the words.

‘Are you…typing to me?’

A very quick answer.

Y. "