“My heart is void.” For some time, I thought it wasn’t. I thought I found true love – the meaning of life some say. I felt I belonged. The love had a name. His name was Luca.
My love was unlucky. A rare disease found him. He was only 11 months old. He fought bravely for 3.5 years. The beast was strong; he was stronger. There were times the doctors lost their hope. There were times everybody lost their hope. He has proven them wrong. For how long, we don’t know. But right now, he is a happy, healthy boy.
I am not. Therapists call this “compassion fatigue” or “burnout”. I need to stay afloat; I need to heal. And the only way to heal, at least for me, is to write. Not useless academic crap. Not equally useless repetitive op-eds. Just write. About Luca, about his struggle, about our struggle… About life and most of all, my life.
Why share? Because I have never written for myself only. And maybe, maybe there will be things in our story that others facing a similar fate would find useful.
That’s all really.