When a new day dawns, you never know what the sea will be like – whether it will be calm, gently rocking the waves with a soft breeze, or, on the contrary, ready for battle, crashing violently as if it could tear the water apart forever.

Oscar, I only feel like writing to you; that’s how my days are. Some days, I reassure myself that everything I feel is «normal,» understandable – and it would be crazy if I “didn’t” feel this way. Other days, I simply can’t grasp the fact that you’re not here, that you’re missing out – in short, that you’re missing out in life, the life you were meant to live. Now it’s the third round of birthdays your friends are celebrating without you, always looking forward to yours – you were one of the youngest.

I always say I have two kinds of days. After two years without you, I’m still caught between them – swaying between the deepest sorrow, where grief takes centre stage, always accompanied by tears that come uninvited. It doesn’t matter if it’s a workday or a holiday -when it hits, I brace myself, trying to make sure the outside world notices as little as possible. Yes, I know what you’d say – but so be it. The thing is, the distance between the real world and mine feels longer every day. Everyday matters bore me more and more. Nothing feels meaningful. Nothing matters. And trying to keep it together is exhausting.

Even though I’m learning to respect what I feel and manage it however it comes, that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.

Each day it gets harder to understand this world without you, and at the same time, to get used to an ordinary morning at home or an afternoon at the football pitch. Today I was with Dad watching boys your age – well, the age you would be now, twenty-one – playing on the pitch. And there you were, right in front of us, on that huge banner with the words ‘Sempre amb nosaltres‘ and that half-smile of yours. To me, you lit up the field with your aura, with your enthusiasm. I tell myself I’m strong, my love, but I’m not – and that’s okay – but I still can’t get used to these ups and downs life throws at me.

Other days, I accept things as they come. I feel at peace and remind myself that you just left a little before I did, that we’ll meet again, and that you’re now on the other side. I want to feel that way, because I need to believe you left for something better. Those days are good, because I like talking about you, remembering you, and thinking that I’m starting to come to terms with this situation – painful, but temporary – with the hope that everything I’ve heard about “the other side” is true.

You didn’t wake up – maybe it’s better where you are. Maybe I’m waiting for a sign from you, so that my longing, the pain of not seeing you, of not touching your curls, of not chatting with you about a thousand things, won’t hurt so much.

In the meantime, I light a candle. I look for you in the clouds. I smile when I see a white butterfly cross my path, or I settle into the sofa and allow myself to begin healing. I miss you so much – the emptiness is so vast that nothing can ease it, because your place is still here, even if I can’t see you.

I’m writing at your desk. It’s late. I just heard Max’s footsteps come up to the door, which is slightly ajar – he’s waiting to come in. He never comes here, especially not at this hour. He’s fallen asleep at my feet.

Your absence is making too much noise.