November 16th, 2017
One year as one day.
No sail on the horizon.

It frightens me the idea that one day it will be 5, 10, 20 years. A whole life without you.
It frightens me the idea that I can forget your voice, your expressions, the way you called me, how it was to live with you.
I’m scared to lose you, Mom.
To lose you inside.
Throughout this year I’ve lived as if you were just leaving home, on one of your trips.
As if every morning I woke up a second after you left, and every night felt asleep without being able to wait for you.
It was the most dreamy year of my life. It looks like yesterday and like never. It seems like a dream. That one where you there aren’t or those ones from night where you are in? I don’t distinguish perceptions, as if it were all real -or all unreal.
I’m lost. But I don’t want to lost you.
My love for you will not change, no matter how much time will pass. I’ll always love you the same way. This is a certainty.
I’ll continue to thank you for the life you gave me -the love, the experiences, the education, the culture- I’ll continue to be sure you are well and you are finally happy, I’ll continue to blame myself for this selfish lack that I feel. Sorry.
I always wanted happiness for you. But I could only help, not give it to you.
Now I should rejoice and that’s enough.

In my every prayers, from last year in the hospital, I always asked you to choose for yourself. What would been better for you. For once at least. Not to think about us. We would be fine and we love you.
Even through these tears, I’m proud of your choice. I, I would do the same.
Only once, in a dream, I allowed to give you a ticket while you leaving the front door knowing you wouldn’t be back: I wrote “Find an excuse to come back.” Find an excuse to stay with us.
I’m sorry. Continue Reading