I don’t know why you poped up into my mind this morning. Your memory.
I remember, will always, where I was when the phone rang, how I felt. I somewhere knew what was about to be said. Something written since the day you entered my life. It could not last. Life like this. Life in a place of suffering. Pain, inside your head, in your body. Your fainted smile as the years went by.
Sometimes a glimpse of hope. Sometimes a chance, maybe. But every time it went as it came. And we remained there, on the threshold of a new dawn, the heart lost in a future that we could only imagine, that would never be yours to walk towards.
The end. I was prepared and yet, I lost balance. I felt relieved for you. I felt pain rushing into my blood and anger filling the space with emptiness.
You were so young. I was so full of dreams, thinking I could overcome every difficulty, I could break the silence they put between us. Your parents thought I was judging them. They felt guilty enough for not being able to look after you the way others thought they ought to.
They were wrong. I was on their side. I was your godmother, not a complete stranger with straight ideas on what it takes and what it means of rasing a disabled child.
You were always an angel anyway. To me. When death took you away, you just get home. You are somewhere between the stars. In my heart for ever. A part of my life. A bright one despite the end, despite all that went wrong between the day I hold you tight in that church and the day the phone rang to tell me you passed away. We did not say goodbye.
