Yesterday, I was at a book fair at my children’s school, presenting my new collection of children’s books to preschoolers, when I received a message from her.
I opened it.
I froze.
My eyes filled with tears.
“I have to go,” I said.
I packed the books. I ran to my car. I drove home as if my soul had left my body.
I went upstairs to my closet, changed my clothes, left the house without feeling my legs, barely able to breathe, and drove to a place I never imagined going with her.
The mausoleum.
I got out. I walked without stopping, hyperventilating, until I reached the room where photos of the little boy were displayed on a screen. The boy who would have played with my son in a few years, when they both learned to walk.
And there, in the back, I saw her.
My friend.
The person who had held me so many times. The one who had encouraged me. The one who had opened her heart and her life to me. The one I knew I could share my feelings with, without guilt.
Dressed in white. Holding, almost becoming one with, a small white box. So small I couldn’t believe it.
The place smelled like flowers. I had never seen so many flowers together. And next to that small box, a photo of her little boy.
I couldn’t stop crying.
Suddenly, the boy’s father was beside me. I hugged him. There were no words I could say. Just a long, tight embrace. Sighs wrapped in tears. A silent “thank you.”
A look I will never forget.
He led me to her. To the moment no mother should ever have to go through.
But if life takes you there, you need the right people to hold you.
We looked at each other. She hugged me.
We cried. We cried until we had to pull apart just to breathe.
And then I saw him.
Calm. Serene. Perfect.
All of this had ended for him. Everything was just beginning for his parents, his grandparents, his family.
My heart shattered. My tears still fall as I write this. My fingers cry, my mind resists. My heart gave a piece of itself to that little boy, so he can carry it with him and not forget his friend Alvaro, wherever he is now.
All our plans for them together left with him. My deep longing to see them ride horses next to my son, to see them play soccer, to talk together about how we met.
The pain is so big for me that life feels impossible for his parents. And yet, here they are. Standing. Teaching me that time moves forward, that life continues, and that we do not decide over their lives.
That they come here with their own missions.
That they are perfect in their timing, in their way.
Today, I honor the life of that little boy who, without knowing it, helped us walk through the first months of Alvaro’s diagnosis.
Today, I honor his parents, their strength, their presence, their love.
Today, I honor every father, mother, and sibling who has had to let go of someone they love along the way, even without choosing it.
And today, more than ever, I am grateful for the lives of my children.
And I understand that every person comes into our life for a specific reason.
That nothing is coincidence.
And that love is the only thing that saves us from death.
AnaC. | Mamá en Letras
