About Marat

Marat passed away a year ago. For those living on Earth, this is a decent amount of time. Who knows to which of us how much is measured? For memory there is no time at all, but for that side of life where we see off our friends, and even more so - a moment. So it seems to me that just a moment ago Marat was nearby.

Cheerful, wise, kind, open, sometimes to the point of defenselessness, Man. During this long year of earthly life, his absence in it proved that little that needed to be verified by new experience.

For example, the fact that Marat’s place in it was empty forever. Just imagine a carousel. So old, with chairs on long chains. It rotates to some kind of cheerful music, various interesting people are rushing somewhere in their circles. There are smart, beautiful, kind people, and there are a lot of bastards, too, but there are still a lot of good ones. And one chair is empty. And there are no tickets for this place at the box office. And no one can sit in it. Nobody. Never.

And it will never be as calm as it was next to Marat. In my most difficult moments, when questions to myself, to work, to people, were mixed up to an indistinct “wouldn’t it all go to..!”, where it’s not even clear, sometimes it was unbearable, everything rose in my throat, I came to into his office on the sixth floor, all on end. And he came out a different person.

And everything was simple: I rushed around the room from corner to corner, and Marat was mostly silent and listened to me sensitively. From time to time, carefully, almost imperceptibly placing points of support on the shaky ground beneath me. And it was to this archipelago of hope created by Marat that I climbed out of my hellish sea of ​​melancholy and despair.

There were no hopeless situations with Marat. Never.

Or his faith. In spite of all the circumstances, the belief that things could be better. That there could be more light. That this is possible, you just need to know that it cannot be otherwise. Only lighter. Such persistent hope lived in Marat. Like the sun, bright. So universal that even after he left us, it did not disappear. And according to the law of conservation of good energy, it passed on to another person.

To the little girl Rita, whose terrible and... common story for the damned these days happened in her life. In its first days. In the maternity hospital. Her hand was almost torn off.

And, of course, only the Germans could help Rita not become disabled. Who else will cure a Russian girl when such an Olympics is going on around her?

We learned about Rita through the Echo of Moscow website, and we gave her mother the money we found for Marat’s operation. Then in March 2012, people, acquaintances and strangers before, collected one and a half million rubles in a week in Tomsk and almost 30 other cities of the country. Most of the money went to pay for the plane to take Marat to Germany for surgery, the plane, which landed in Novosibirsk and did not wait for its patient. And the money that remained was useful to Rita. Of course, we weren’t the only ones who helped her. But I’m sure that Marat talked to the right people “over there.”

And in February 2013, the operation was successful. Doctors estimate the possibilities of rehabilitation at 85%.

Almost returned Rita's healthy hand. The same Germans who did not have time to help a year ago. Thanks to them. As our friend Marat said: “Be kind!” How could it be otherwise?