Berserk: a story of life and death | How Kentaro Miura changed my life

I am writing these words exactly one month after I discovered that Kentaro Miura, creator of Berserk, has died.

For reasons that will soon become clear, I did not—could not—allow myself to grieve his passing until today. And now it's all pouring out, like heavy rain on a hill of swords.

I decided to share this very personal and emotional story with you, in anonymity, in the hope that it will help some find some solace in the wake of what happened.

Some may see this as very long post, but I like to see it as a short tale. There's twists and turns, emotions, surprises, and a bittersweet ending. Just like Berserk.

I think you will like it.

If you don't have time to read it now, I suggest you save it for later. Please don't skim through it. Just like with Berserk, the point of it all is not the plot, but the experience of it.

There is no substitute or shortcut for that.

------

I can't remember the first time I picked up a volume of Berserk, but I remember I was very young. It must have been 20 years ago.

The first encounter I had with the story was, as with many, the 1997 anime series. It struck me as something disturbing, gut-wrenching, and at the same time, very beautiful.

After binging on the 25 episodes, before it was a thing, I vividly remember I wanted more.

I needed more.

It was then that I picked up the manga. Pretty soon, I realised I stumbled across something special.

For a teenager, it was earth-shattering.

As a cinephile, I knew films could be deep, and explore real philosophical themes.

I knew books could be entire sagas, with overarching stories, filled with complex characters and strange new worlds.

My mom was a librarian for almost 40 years. Her love for books and stories had affected me in ways I am only beginning to understand now as an adult.

I knew all this, but it mattered little. It did not prepare me for what I was going to face while reading Kentaro Miura's masterwork.

Many say that Berserk has had a profound impact in their life, but it's very hard to explain what that means to others who didn't go through the experience.

This is my attempt.

This is my story.

______

For the majority of my life, I've been a logical person. I was interested in facts and numbers, stuff you can measure and talk about scientifically.

But I was also a dreamer.

I played music, I made drawings, and I'd have visions of the future. Insights into what might happen.

I had ambition.

Despite the fact that I came from a modest family, from a small, forgotten town, with no means and no entitlement, I always felt I was destined for something great. I didn't know why, or how I would achieve it, but I always had this feeling deep inside me.

Over the years, as read Berserk, I grew with the story.

My life has been entangled with that of Miura, in a way that was not clear to me at the time, but that I am beginning to understand now.

Some time later, 13 years ago to this day, I met a special personal, who became one of my best friends.

We shared many things: we loved the natural world, we obsessed about understanding how things work, and we had bold visions of the future.

We instantly clicked.

Then, we discovered we had one more thing in common: we had been secretly reading Berserk, every release, but had no-one to talk to about it.

The SkullKnight forum was great, but neither one of us had ever met in person someone who was deep as into Berserk as we were. Now we could finally share our stories and theories with another human being, face to face.

It helped us go one layer deeper in our friendship, which continues strong to this day.

13 years strong.

He used to joke about us and our friendship.

He, a large, taciturn muscular guy, with broad shoulders, dark hair and a traumatic past, was Guts.

I, a slender and charismatic young boy with long, golden hair and great ambition for the future, was Griffith.

His online avatar had been Guts for many years, and mine had been Griffith.

But I felt ambivalent about the comparison.

Indeed, we looked like Guts and Griffith. And our personalities were, in many respects, also spot-on.

He had a dark past, and was struggling to find peace in this world. He was a man of few words, with a large and strong physical presence, who had been fighting with his demons for years, and had found a bit of solace in his love for a woman, who saved him from his past.

I came from nothing, but by age 30 I had achieved what many aspire to do in a lifetime. I was that charismatic leader with ethereal looks, inspiring people, forming bands of brothers under a common cause.

I liked some of Griffith's qualities, as they were a reflection of what I was aspiring to be.

But I didn't want to be Griffith. I didn't betray my friend, and I didn't want to sacrifice them.

My friend used to casually call me Griffith. I, in turn, would call him Guts every now and then. He said many times that the comparison was just a joke. But we all know that jokes only work when there's a bit of truth in it.

I don't know if he aware of it or not, but he had a deep intuition that revealed something crucial to me.

Griffith wanted to build his empire. But in that process, he had to sacrifice something very important: all the people dear to him. In order to transcend his condition and become a god, he had to sacrifice his humanity, and walk over the corpses of innumerable people.

I wanted to build my empire.

But if the price to pay to achieve that was to walk all over others and lose the people I cared about, I didn't want it.

Even though I never betrayed my friends and family like Griffith did, I let my ambition and success get the better of me, and I was sacrificing my relationship with them.

Griffith's story was a cautionary tale, which showed me what that path could lead to, if left unchecked. I didn't realise this fully at the time, but I think my subconscious picked it up.

In the coming years, as the story after the eclipse continued, I I grew with it, taking the best from each character with me along the journey.

From Luka, I learned to care more for others, even (especially) in times of adversity.

Rickert taught me that becoming a man means taking on responsibilities greater than yourself, and there is nothing that can buy true loyalty, be it prosperity, security, or a shiny promise of a better future.

From Farnese, I learned that through shared struggle people can change, and that being responsible for someone helpless can make you a stronger and better person.

Guts showed me the strength of the endearing human spirit, and taught me to never give up, no matter how how dire the situation may become.

Caska taught me that a mother's love is more powerful than anything, be it demons or traumas, and it can transcend this material world.

Over the past 20 years, I was inspired by Miura and his characters to grow into the man I am today.

All these lessons started out as distant stories, but they became more real as I had to face each one of them in my own life.

I never knew what caring for others truly meant, until I had given myself fully to someone else, with the sole hope of seeing them thrive.

I didn't know what facing real adversity was like, until one day I found myself in a bleak abyss, like a tunnel inside the eclipse, unable to see a way out, thinking I was going to die.

And I didn't understand how powerful a mother's love was, until my mom got sick.

Really sick.

But let's go back in time a little bit.


--------


It's May 6th, 2021. Thursday night. I'm in the apartment with my girlfriend, having dinner.

Suddenly, I have a vision. It's from last night's dream, which I just remembered now. I can't quite focus what it is about, but I know one thing: I feel an urgent need to read the last chapter of Berserk.

Why now?

I haven't picked up Berserk for many months. Perhaps almost two years. I began changing my reading schedule a while back, as the chapter's release hiatuses became larger. I switched from reading a new chapter at every release, to waiting for serendipity to strike every now and then, so I could read a few chapters all together.

I can't say why, but I feel this time is different.

In the past, when the inspiration came, it was because something reminded me of Berserk. Perhaps an article online, a picture I found, or a conversation with someone reminded me of it.

“I guess it's a good time to see where Berserk's at”, I would say in those occasions.

This time, it's nothing like it. It came to me in a dream. And the feeling is so intense, I cannot describe it. I can only pick up the last published chapters, put on headphones, enter my sacred space, and delve into this strange, magical world.

Two hours have passed. I have slowly absorbed the panels, which came to life as I was reading them, more than than ever in the past 20 years.

I emerge from the lands of Elfheim, and I look over my shoulder, by the window. My girlfriend is sitting on the sofa, looking at the sea. She turns toward me and smiles affectionately.

I am happy.

And yet, something is missing.

I go back to Berserk, and I begin to re-read the last volume. As I do, I see new things coming up, which I missed the first time. There is more detail to every page, new meaning to every word.

Two hours have passed, again. I take a few moments to let everything sink in. Then I pick up my phone and open the SkullKast podcast, which for some reason I had never done before.

I spend the next three hours listening to Walter, Azealth, Grail and others having conversations, sharing analyses, ideas, and feelings about the fantastical story that I feel most connected to, which has accompanied me for most of my life, and had only one friend in the whole world to talk to about.

It's about 50 minutes in, and I realise one thing: this is the way I should experience Berserk. This is what I have been missing. I have been lurking in the forum for years, without posting. I have been talking with my friend Guts about it whenever we had the chance, but these times were becoming more and more rare.

I feel a strange sense of peace and belonging, as if I had just met long lost friends from a past life, now gathered together to share stories in a language we all understand.

It's beautiful.

The next day, I receive the gravest piece of news of my entire life.

---------

It's my mom. She calls me up on the phone. Her voice is trembling. I can hardly hear what she is saying, but as she speaks, she pronounces six words that weigh more than a mountain, and pierce through my heart like a thousand swords, six words that I will never forget.

“It's what I feared the most.”

She has been lamenting some pain in the abdomen for a few days. We thought it might be caused by an indigestion, or perhaps the result of some stress.

“It's cancer. The doctors found a large tumor inside me. It spread so fast and so large there's little chance of survival.”

I had heard those words before. In movies. In books. I tried to empathise with the characters and what they were going through. I knew all this, but it mattered little. It did not prepare me for what I was going to face. I remember thinking “I don't know what I would do if it happened to me”, and I was right.

I had no idea what it would be like. No-one can.

My mother, my beloved mom, whom I love more than anything in this world, who has given everything for me, she who means everything to me, was going to die.

“Are you sure? How long do we have?”, I ask her, trying to contain my emotions.

“If we don't do the surgery within two weeks, I will be dead in less a month.”

That's it.

Without any warning, without any notice.

She was in good health, no signs of anything wrong. She worked tirelessly for others for 40 years and dedicated her life to arts and culture, being more than an incredible librarian for the whole town. She was a confidant, a helper, and a guide to so many people, too many to count. But most of all, she was the standing rock keeping our family together, during good times, challenging times, all the times.

Now, after 40 years or services to others, having grown three amazing kids and helped hundreds if not thousands of people, barely 10 months after retirement, she was going to die.

Just like that.

No warning. No justice.

It's evening. I spend just as much time as last night in contemplation, but without a book in my hand. I stare at the sea for hours, and I cycle though all the emotions a man and a son can experience.

My girlfriend gives me space, silently observing from a distance. After a long time, she comes over to me by the sofa. We embrace in silence, for an interminable time.

I gather the emotional and physical energy for the journey ahead. I have to be strong for my mom, and for my whole family.

A few days later, I am on the first available flight to get to my mom. The whole family gathers from the four corners of the globe to be there for her, and for each other.

The next days will be the most intense and bonding experience I ever had, which, albeit in anonymity, I am not ready to share publicly.

Fast forward to Thursday, May 20th.

My mom just had surgery the previous day. She spent 10 hours straight under the knife. My brother, my sister, my dad and I were all huddled together around the phone, waiting for the hospital to call.

They were the longest 10 hours of our lives.

Toward the end of the day, we finally received news from the head surgeon. The operation was finished. It was successful, but that meant very little. The real test were the 24 hours that ensued. The surgery was so extensive that few internal organs remained. Only if my mom managed to survive for 24 hours without complications could she have a chance of making it.

That night I had strange, ethereal dreams. I couldn't make heads or tails of them, but I remember the feeling. It was a bittersweet sensation, the same feeling I had two weeks before, on May 6th, when I dreamed of Berserk.

------

It's 7am. I am awakened by the sound of my phone. It's a message from Guts.

“Hey. I don't know if you knew this but Kentaro Miura died...”

At this point, my emotions are so garbled I can't quite make sense of it.

”Aortic dissection”, he says, “which means very sudden”.

Just like that.

No warning. No justice.

For a moment, I hope he's playing a sick joke on me or something. But I him better. He wouldn't do that. I search for news on Google.

It's true.

Kentaro Miura, possibly the greatest mangaka alive, the creator of a story that has accompanies me and helped me grow and become a better man for over 20 years, has died.

I get out of bed, visibly shaken. I can't utter a single word. I make my way toward the kitchen, where I find my little sister.

“Any news from the hospital?”, I ask.

“No news.“ She says gravely.

”We don't know what happened to mom tonight.”

I look over by the window and I take a deep breath. I feel I only have the energy burst out in tears.

I shake for a moment.

Then I regain my senses. I have to be strong. Not just for me. I have to be strong for my little sister. And my brother. And my dad. They all rely on me, so I have to be there for them.

Two hours pass.

We get the call from the hospital. We are all gather around the phone. We lean in and listen closely.

They tell us only one, simple thing: my mom has survived the night, and has been moved out of intensive care.

“It will not be easy”, they say, “but she is going to make it”.

We all look at each other, and for a split second I see in each of them the rainbow of emotions that the human spirit of capable of feeling: the ecstatic release of worry of my dad, the loud cry of fear being replaced by hope of my brother, and the scream of joy of my sister.

I take the biggest sigh of relief in my life, and rejoice with them.

After the excitement has winded down, I take a moment for myself. A look over the phone, from which in the span of two hours I received two pieces of news.

The most important person in my life, the one who was there with me before I was even born, is going to live.

The most important person in my life that I never met, the one who created an epic saga that has accompanied my for 20 years, which helped me grow as a man, has died.

One life ends, another one lives on.

Indeed, the Hand of Fate speaks to us in mysterious ways.

---

In the next two weeks, I had been intently busy helping with the aftermath of the surgery, from the emotional support and physical presence to the logistics of it, while catching up with all the work I had to set aside with the companies I run and the troubles that go with it, that I never had the emotional buffer to grieve Miura's death.

Until today.

It had been there, as someone elegantly described it, a whole in the floor that I put a carpet on and remembered not to walk over it.

I had been reading the forums, browsing blogs and watching the tributes on YouTube, but never felt quite at peace with it.

Today, I allowed myself to take a full day off and confront it. I took a walk by the sea, in silence, thinking of everything that this manga meant to me.

Finally, it was SkullKast 115: Remembering Kentarou Miura that sealed the deal. Listening to your voices, your very real emotions, the 30+ years of life together, how Miura's work changed your life, how some even became husband and wife because of it, made me feel so much more connected, and whole.

It went beyond words when I heard Hirasawa Susumu's poetic salute to Miura, who composed the most memorable and timeless music of Berserk, which I associate and I listen to whenever I think of it:

“Miura doesn't need to occupy a physical space anymore.

So we can talk more often from now on.

Miura-san, I look forward to talking with you soon.”

When I heard those words, I felt a breeze of spirit flushing through my body. I felt weightless for a moment, and time stopped.

When I came out of it, I realised that, although I received news of Miura's death on May 20th, I became aware of it much sooner. It was two weeks earlier, on May 6th.

It came to me in a dream. The next day, my mom called.

I didn't know how to make sense of it then, and I have no explanation for it now.

All I know is that my mom is alive.

And Miura's spirit lives on.


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