Epilogue – This Belongs in a Novel

Three months after Edó’s death, during an ordinary phone conversation, Mesi mentioned almost casually:

“You know that in high school we sat in the same desk for four years?”

Csabi fell silent on the other end of the line.

“What? Then you knew my wife better than I did,” he said quietly. “The high school years are the most honest ones. That’s when everyone truly is who they are. This… this belongs in a novel, Mesi.”

That sentence became the seed.

Months later Milan already knew what he wanted: to write Edó’s story. He asked his father and Mesi to recall the old days. Countless stories surfaced — tears and laughter followed one another. It was difficult, but uplifting at the same time.

A new bond was formed between the three of them. They were not only writing Edó’s life — through her they were telling the story of an entire era: the dreams, struggles, and desire for escape of young people who clung to sport.

The trilogy was first published in English — first as an e-book, then shortly afterwards in print.

Since it had originally been written in Hungarian, it was only a matter of time and opportunity before it would return home: before the Hungarian edition would be born.

The chapters seemed to write themselves. Milan is convinced that his mother’s hand was also part of the work — guiding it quietly from somewhere above.

On August 30, at half past seven in the morning, she passed away — after a one-day, furious battle. In the end she was peaceful, without fear.

A year later her memorial already stood.

Edó herself was a novel: strength, faith, and love in one body.

Afterword I – Csabi’s Confession

We men, arrogant and overly confident in this field, live — and I lived for a long time as well — with the illusion that we choose our partners. Maybe we initiate things, maybe we stir things up here and there, but in the end it is the woman who chooses her partner.

Edó chose me. After a small detour she got me, and with devoted effort she kept me.

Thinking about it now, she had a difficult job. Fortunately, she never gave up for a single moment.

We were young in a very interesting historical era. The system still had some dictatorial elements, but it was already loosening — and loosening more and more. It had become possible to live in it. It was an interesting period not only for Hungary but for the entire Eastern Bloc.

The wind of economic collapse was already touching everyone, so the authorities were also interested in restarting the economy — at any cost, by any means. If that meant giving the illusion of “freedom,” then so be it. They knew they could regain control through other tools whenever they wanted. And they did — much later than we expected.

I, Csabi, began building my businesses in this strange era. Even today it strikes me what we felt — we nobodies — when we printed our first business cards with the word “director” on them.

Life back then was full of exaggeration and lies.

“I am this, I am that, I know this person, I know that person, I can arrange this for sure, just…”

It burned deeply into people. Some never managed to grow out of it.

I was lucky. I had Edó.

She made a man out of me.

“Don’t lie. Not to anyone, and not for anything.”

What kind of person was she?

A fortunate nature. Unlike me and most people, she never felt the urge to talk unnecessarily. She didn’t give unsolicited advice, never promised anything to anyone, could always account for everything, and never tangled herself in lies.

She never even twisted the truth.

But she could listen to others in a way that never interrupted them. People loved her for this — even strangers, like a cashier in a shop who happened to start a conversation with her.

You can only be born like that.

She knew herself well. That didn’t mean arrogance or superiority. She had her own complexes too. Childhood traumas can be softened, but they never completely disappear.

“Don’t lie.”

And after a while I stopped lying. In fact, I started saying everything openly. Many people don’t like that. People prefer to be lied to, to have false hopes fed to them.

In business life I would have been lost without her.

She was my anchor, my fixed point. She could not be manipulated — not even by me. So what chance would anyone else have had?

She was brave. Braver than anyone I have ever known.

She fought for her truth and for her family like a mother tiger. A real woman who protected the nest, guarded the fire, healed wounds.

She expected the men in her life to fulfill the roles nature had given them: to fight and to hunt successfully.

These were natural expectations.

She expected her son to become better than both of us.

“As a human being,” she often said. “That’s the order of development. You must be better than us.”

Whatever business I started or acquired, after a few weeks she would appear in the new company, managing it and demanding accountability with the highest level of professionalism.

Operational management was always her domain. I never interfered with that. The office and the boss’s chair belonged exclusively to her. She earned them.

Through her we were always safe.

I followed her illness and helped where I could, but I remained an outsider. I have read and heard — and I accept it — that during the great moments we are alone.

We are alone at birth.

We are alone at death.

Others may be around us, but we are alone.

As her illness progressed, Edó became increasingly alone. We were there, moving around, doing things, talking — but she had already been alone with her struggle for some time.

Everything else still worked as before: family, work, programs.

But in the deepest layers she was already alone.

Perhaps this is the ancient nature of human existence.

Since I could not protect her, could not hold her back, I now know with certainty that in the end she was alone.

A year has passed. We built a unique memorial worthy of her.

This three-volume work could only have been born with her active participation. It could not have happened any other way.

From somewhere — from some cosmic space — this story flowed down through Milan.

And it is no coincidence that my connection with Mesi became active again. I am convinced that this too was meant to happen, with a specific purpose.

Several of us feel Edó’s presence.

She is here among us.

With this writing I close Edó’s story.

Everything else you can read in the trilogy, written by our son Milan.

Afterword II – Mesi’s Letter to Edó

It was a long time ago: April 15, 1977.

That was when I wrote a message in Edó’s memory book — a wish I made from the heart, with love.

Forty-seven years later that small note brought Csabi and me back together after many years of distance.

I do not believe in coincidences. During our first phone conversation I only suspected it.

Today I know for certain that Edó arranged things so that this meeting would happen.

Our special friendship probably gave her the foundation to turn to me and assign me tasks related to the loved ones she left behind.

But I never would have imagined that through our friendship this meeting would present an entire historical era and become a world-class historical narrative.

A trilogy?

I still can hardly believe it.

It was good to recall so many memories.

Csabi and I cried and laughed.

Milan simply kept taking notes.

According to him, Edó somehow “transmitted” the stories, because they assembled themselves. He only had to operate the keyboard.

He didn’t have to search for the words, the sentences, the stories — they came on their own.

I thank them for allowing me to be part of this work and for framing these important chapters of my life in such a beautiful way.

What did I write in that memory book all those years ago?

“As your classmate and friend, I wish you that in life you become a very happy and fortunate — but above all honest — person.”

That was forty-eight years ago.

In the case of my dear friend, forty-seven.

Now that I read our story as a complete whole, my wish from that time came true exactly as I wrote it.

That is how my Edó lived.

And I shaped my own life according to that sentence as well.

Great happinesses, great disappointments — but my honor has never been stained.

I have a wonderful mother-daughter relationship. Stella is the main work of my life.

I am not an average parent. I became a better one: a loving mother and my daughter’s true friend.

I need nothing more for happiness.

I am a real woman from Miskolc. I am not afraid of challenges. I will stand up and fight for my truth and for my daughter anytime, against anyone.

I still work actively today, and I have never given up sport.

It gave me strength and a quality life. I owe it to myself not to abandon it.

Compared to Edó, I was lucky in one respect: a hidden illness was diagnosed in time.

With a complete lifestyle change, my doctor Richard stopped the deterioration.

Today I can live a full life again. I am grateful to him for dedicating his life to curing the disease called IBD.

Unfortunately, in Edó’s case the deadly illness had already developed by the time she went to the doctor.

Milan summarized very beautifully who Edó and I were:

two girls from Miskolc’s steel district who wanted more from life than what their environment had planned for them.

And I have good news:

We succeeded.

Budapest, 2025
Csabi and Mesi — in memory of Edó