Friend, today I will write you an eternal email.
As you already knew, returning to Buenos Aires was my priority. Upon landing, I felt a huge sorrow. The moment you opened the door came over me: you hugged me and started crying.
Read more Reuters/Ipsos Poll: Trump Approval Falls to 33%, the Lowest Level of His Presidency
—I have cancer, girl —you told me.
I remembered the moment you threw that question at me:
—Skinny, what if the treatment doesn’t work and I die?
—We have to wait, step by step —I answered.
—Do you know what worries me the most? —you said—. If I die, what will happen to Caro? She has lived 11 years with me and will start a difficult stage. Can you imagine? And Fran, at one year old, won’t know me; and Pancho, how will he manage alone?
We hugged, tears fell, there were no words to fill that space.
Then, I remembered your last visit to Chile, when the first treatment had already failed. We were at your aunt’s house and you asked me:
—Skinny, what if this is the last time I’m with all my family?
We looked at each other and cried; we knew it was a possibility. You told me something about your funeral, I don’t remember what, but I confessed that I wouldn’t be able to speak at your farewell, and so it was.
On that same visit, I invited you to the Viña Festival to see Fito Páez. You sang at the top of your lungs “Al lado del camino.” You loved that song, we loved that song.
You always had a value, a passion, a strength, and a unique drive in everything you did and in every challenge you faced. I never saw you give up.
The last time I went to see you, you were already very ill. We spent the days in your bed, but even so, you found strength from where you had none to go out with us to Chinatown. The noise bothered you, even the touch of clothes hurt you, but true to your Taurus stubbornness, you insisted on being there.
And that night, the last one, you told me:
—I already know what I want to do.
You wanted us to record ourselves singing songs by Cristina and Los Subterráneos. We put on makeup and sang “Las suelas de mis botas,” that song we sang to our teenage loves. One way or another, we both knew that was our true farewell.
The next day we went to the café you liked so much. I already had to return to Chile. At the moment of saying goodbye, I hugged you with all my strength and you whispered in my ear:
—If I die and you can’t come to my funeral, don’t worry. You’ve already done enough. —No matter what, I will come —I answered you.
Although the outlook didn’t look good at all, I refused to accept that it would be the last time I would see you; inside I kept the hope of meeting again.
Read more Former Ecuadorian Minister Ivonne Baki joins the race for the UN Secretary-General position
Since you moved to Buenos Aires, fifteen years ago, we saw each other absolutely every year. One year you came to Chile and the next I went to Argentina. That was our sacred pact.
When I said goodbye to Pancho after your funeral, I promised him I would travel every year to see you all. The next year he came; the following year, for different reasons, I couldn’t travel. That’s why I needed to make this trip so urgently.
When I arrived, Pancho opened the door for me. There they were: him, Caro, and Fran. Your house was exactly the same. Your photos decorating the entrance, everything intact. The only thing that had changed was that you were no longer there.
I thought I would cry rivers, that I would feel sad and strange, but it wasn’t like that. I felt at home. I felt just as I always felt in your homes: welcomed by a very warm feeling. Everything flowed.
Caro was happy. She talked nonstop; she moves her hands and is very expressive, just like you. She’s so grown up. Fran, who was barely one year old when you left, moved around the house and talked like a parrot.
Pancho prepared something for us and we all sat together. The atmosphere, far from being mournful, felt alive.
“Calm down, friend —I thought—, Pancho is doing well. Your girls are fine.”
Looking at the three of them sitting at the table, I saw you there: in Caro’s laughter, in Fran’s gaze, and in the strength with which Pancho holds your home. That honest love you told me about in our last WhatsApp message had left its mark.
I miss you and love you a thousand.
Once I told you, I never imagined we would live motherhood so far apart. Today I tell you that I never imagined that distance would take another form, that it would be even deeper, but I also never imagined that friendship would transcend death.
It hasn’t been easy being without you after 28 years together, but I always feel you with me.
Read more Trump confirms that there are no planned talks with Iran after the agreement signed in June expires
