Not there and yet still there
October 2, 2020
Hasan is someone I came to know more through his actions and what he said to others. I regret I never had long conversations with him myself. I probably would be the wiser for it, about houses, about food, about politics, about money, about how to build stuff.
Through Deniz, I always knew he liked me and had my back. He told Deniz he could not believe his luck, to have found a son-in-law who doesn't like beer. When we were deciding to leave the US to go to England, he asked Deniz, "And how does Chris feel?"
But I heard these things second hand. For me, he was always more a man of action than a man of words. Having retired from engineering, he became someone who bought, built, improved, and sold houses. This real estate was for me, a salaried academic, a window into new worlds and new ways of living: the house in Duvall on its thirty acres of woodland, converted lovingly from an old barn into a light, airy, and yet well insulated living space, or the house in Cesme with its fig and apricot trees, warmth and sunlight, an entry point into Turkish culture and Deniz's extended family.
One advantage of having come to know Hasan in this way is that he still feels present in my life. I sometimes hear Hasan's voice when I talk with Deniz. I see Hasan's work when I look at the house in Duvall. And I feel Hasan's presence when I take vacations in Cesme with Deniz and the kids and talk with his sisters, nieces, and nephews.
Through Deniz, I always knew he liked me and had my back. He told Deniz he could not believe his luck, to have found a son-in-law who doesn't like beer. When we were deciding to leave the US to go to England, he asked Deniz, "And how does Chris feel?"
But I heard these things second hand. For me, he was always more a man of action than a man of words. Having retired from engineering, he became someone who bought, built, improved, and sold houses. This real estate was for me, a salaried academic, a window into new worlds and new ways of living: the house in Duvall on its thirty acres of woodland, converted lovingly from an old barn into a light, airy, and yet well insulated living space, or the house in Cesme with its fig and apricot trees, warmth and sunlight, an entry point into Turkish culture and Deniz's extended family.
One advantage of having come to know Hasan in this way is that he still feels present in my life. I sometimes hear Hasan's voice when I talk with Deniz. I see Hasan's work when I look at the house in Duvall. And I feel Hasan's presence when I take vacations in Cesme with Deniz and the kids and talk with his sisters, nieces, and nephews.