I lost you...

I lost you twice. The first time I thought that was it. You had disappeared for such a long time that we assumed the worst. I was young, confused, and finally resigned to the fact that I would live without you. I saw mother’s profound sadness, and I decided to live my pain in silence without asking too many questions. Moreover, the subject of you was taboo, evocative of a sad part of our life that each of us was trying to forget or from which we were attempting to alleviate the pain.

The second time, I didn’t believe it. How could life be so cruel? You had survived such hardship. We had only just begun to catch up. I was terribly shy to find myself with a father I didn’t know, and you overtaken by life itself with its daily household problems, divorce, and us, two young adolescents. Your death, the real one, was more brutal for me this time.

In both cases, casual goodbyes, inconsequential goodbyes filled with the promise of seeing each other once again. Never farewell.

I would have loved so much to have known you better, and through me you might have seen a bit of yourself. I think of you sometimes and of what could have been, but not too often. It’s pointless.

I am still a little incensed by everything that has happened, but I imagine that it will all pass one day. I just wanted to let you know.