Cleaning folders and deleting files was when I read this letter again, I wrote it in December 2011. Time is relentless, the days fly by and I wonder, when did the years go by?
Between the lines I relived my despair. I remembered that summer like it was yesterday. One loaded with pain, but with immense hope. So, without further ado, and on your birthday, this one is for you, Santiago. Because life my brother, no matter how fucked up it is, no matter how difficult it gets, no matter how complex it turns out to be, no matter how tangled it may seem, it is well worth living.
Hello brother, I’m sitting alone in the radio studio, I just got back from the hospital. I turned down the volume on anything that might distract my mind. I am with the computer in front of me, looking at the screen, surrounded by four walls that make me feel like a grain of sand in a deep sea that we are having to navigate.
I’m kind of stunned honestly. Puzzled of what awaits us, what will come. We are taking turns with mom to be able to see you, but she doesn’t understand why and that she can’t be sitting next to you twenty-four hours a day, you know how stubborn she is, right?
When I have been able to see you, I have to disinfect myself from head to toe, clean any trace of bacteria that could put your injured body at risk. I put on gloves, a mask and a gown before entering intensive care. They give me only ten minutes, ten measly minutes, out of one thousand four hundred and forty that a day has. But I don’t plan to fight with the doctors and nurses, it looks like he likes you and they take care of you as if you were his son.
Sometimes I talk to you, other times I stay still observing everything, standing by your side. I mumble a few words trying to find your face hidden behind bicolored bruises, tangled wires, and a huge tube that’s been pushed down your throat. The one that helps you breathe, and makes your chest rise and fall to the beat of the noise of the machines behind you.
I’m not going to lie to you Santiago, the mind betrays and exaggerates sometimes, I imagine the worst scenario, but then hope blossoms. The one that was born when you squeezed my hand or when you shed a tear while mom whispered songs to you in that sleepy dream, a dream you were induced to weeks ago. What is going through your mind? Are you listening to me? Are you there, Santiago?
Today we have more questions than answers, but your place at the table is still there. I see dad lost, Juanpa too. The house is quiet, the food doesn’t taste the same, but something tells me that at some point you will read this letter. Who knows if I dare to give it to you or selfishly keep it as a personal secret.
Now I just want to ask you one thing and nothing more. Advance Santiago, I ask you to advance. I implore you to try. We are here. Installed in that timeless space but always by your side. Advance Santiago, that here, in this plane we are waiting for you.
