Heartfelt Memories and Cheeky Whispers: A Dive into Áron Őze’s Tribute
Ah, the art of storytelling! Sometimes it whispers gently, like a sickly cat, and other times it roars like a lion that just realized it’s been declared a vegetarian. In a recent heartfelt testament brought to us by Fidelio, Áron Őze takes us on a ride through the emotional roller coaster that was his relationship with his father, the iconic, larger-than-life Lajos Őze.
Now, let’s be clear: losing a parent is a bit like discovering you’ve been using the wrong emoji in your texts for the last five years; it’s crushing, and you can’t quite come to terms with it. Áron, describing his father’s secluded nature, portrays a man who preferred the shadows—a bit like me trying to hide from a bill collector after a night of bad choices. Lajos sought solace in quiet corners, only inviting the few who truly understood him: Mrs. Őze, Gábor, and, of course, our dear Áron. Can we blame him? I mean, have you tried having a deep chat in a crowded pub? It’s like performing Shakespeare at a toddler’s birthday party.
“My father liked to be alone… retreated to such places with his sorrows, thoughts, and grievances.”
But it’s not all gloomy. Oh no, Lajos had flair! Imagine storming out of the hospital like a Shakespearean hero, dodging doctors like they’re zombies in a cheap horror flick, just so he could reprise his role as Friend Lőrinc. Because nothing screams ‘I’m immortal’ quite like a surprise appearance on stage while battling cancer. Now that’s a plot twist worthy of a dramatic movie!
In a world so draped in existential worry, Lajos offered parting wisdom, almost like a dad’s last chance to recreate that iconic scene from a rom-com. “Take care of your mother,” he said. Ah, the classic line with a point that could deflate a car tire; poignant, yet motivating in a way that makes your heart swell and simultaneously shrivel up. Can someone call Hallmark? They need to stock up on “Dad Wisdom” cards for Father’s Day!
“We should live life, not just survive.”
And let’s talk about the theatre, Lajos’s true love! It was a safe haven for him, the kind of place that makes you forget the world outside is a chaotic mess, much like my idea of a family reunion. Acting was the drug, and the stage was the pharmacy. Maybe that’s why he didn’t feel the need to spend time off stage—who wants a dose of reality when you can have a heaping pile of drama and applause?
As Áron recalls the day he truly understood his father’s death—at the funeral, gazing at that tranquil, white-shrouded face— you can’t help but shudder a bit. The scene becomes almost cinematic as he describes the crowd, the emotional abyss, and that universal sense of grief that binds all humans together. Let’s just say, if you didn’t have a tear in your eye, you might want to check if you’ve been turned into a robot.
With notable figures like Mari Törőcsik and Ferenc Sík attending, one wonders: was the funeral a place of closure or merely the stage for one last performance? After all, how do you say goodbye to a man who turned even his final moments into an act of sheer brilliance? Well, I’ll give you a hint: tissues were definitely required.
In the end, the enduring spirit of Lajos Őze remains alive through Áron’s memories and witty anecdotes. Life teaches us to cherish every fleeting moment, and boy, if you’re not cherishing those moments, just remember: if Lajos could crash his own funeral in dramatic style, surely we can all find a way to embrace the chaos of life with a little laugh. And I’d say that’s the best legacy a father can leave behind.
For the full, shocking confession, click here.
Áron Őze gave his emotional testimony to Fidelio. Lajos Őze died at the age of forty-nine, battling lymph cancer.
My father liked to be alone. He sought out nooks and crannies where he allowed only a few. Mainly Mom, my brother, Gábor and me. He retreated to such places with his sorrows, thoughts, and grievances. When he was little, he looked out for a little house in the backyard of the house in Szentes. That was his childhood empire. I had to take care of my father. It happened – a few months before his death, when he was also in the János – that he escaped from the hospital. He knew that the Romeo and Juliet goes, he loved to play the role of friend Lőrinc, stormed into the Nemzeti by taxi, across half the city, from Buda to the VII. district, in front of the theater dressing room, his “changer”, Zoltán Nagy, met him, my father “requested” the costume from him, and he went on stage. His colleagues – they told me later – jumped out of their roles with joy. My father was also a master of the unexpected. But he could predictably be unexpected. My mother once told me: The illness survived Dad
– recalls Áron Őze, who lives the time spent with his father as if Lajos Őze was always in a hurry. The confession also reveals that the legendary actor took only one theater script with him to the hospital, the III. Richardot.
“Take care of your mother”
Áron Őze also told Fidelio about the advice his father gave during one of the visits.
He spoke. Slowly, very slowly. He said something to the effect that we should live life, not just survive. Then he looked at us and told us more sternly: Take care of your mother! I was fourteen years old, I understood everything, that maybe Dad was saying goodbye, but it was all so festive, so beautiful. Mom later told me that during one of her visits, Dad suddenly grabbed her hand and whispered to her: “You were my wife and you will remain so.” This is how he let her know that she was his eternal wife. However, they divorced in 1978. Mom didn’t leave him alone.
According to Áron Őze, his father’s home was the theater, he was never afraid there, acting kept him going. He considered the time he spent outside the stage to be unnecessary, he was anxious about the world and destroyed himself.
“I think I only really came face to face with the fact that he died at Apu’s funeral. He lay in an open coffin at the funeral home. It was covered by a white translucent shroud. I watched the silhouette of his face for a long time. A crowd accompanied him on his last journey to the artists’ plot of the Farkasrét cemetery. The funeral was on November 6. The sun was shining a little. Mari Törőcsik and Ferenc Sík bid farewell. I still vividly remember István Bubik. There was deep sorrow in his eyes. Real grief. It hit me in the heart at the time,” recalls the Jászai Mari award-winning actor. The full, shocking confession can be read by clicking here.
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