Hello my dear friends, after such a long time I decided to write to console myself for a departure that I can't get over.

These past few days, I've been thinking a lot about how life separates us from the people we love. I'm talking about that final physical separation, the one we all know is part of life, but still hurts deeply when that moment arrives. All that’s left is acceptance and the memories that our loved one is no longer here, someone we loved so much, with whom we were connected by the bond of life and the great love our hearts hold.

The silence I’ve kept speaks of the days and nights I spent sleepless, wishing I could be close to you to hug you. It speaks of the many tears I shed in secret, feeling that life was unfair because I couldn’t be by your side. It also speaks of the great love I have for you and the fear of losing you, like when a little girl loses her balloon to the wind and can’t reach it.

You’re gone, Dad, but I like to think that, from where you are, you understand that even though life didn’t give me the chance to return to my homeland and spend that December we were all looking forward to, when we could be together as a family—like you always said, "this is the year my children will come home"—despite everything, I never stopped being with you in spirit, because that love knows no distance or borders. Love is the only thing that unites us. Part of my comfort was knowing that, from afar, I could contribute to everything needed to try and save you. My solace came from your words telling me, “Daughter, I love you so much, God bless you, don’t be sad, this will pass and we’ll be fine. I’m not leaving yet; I’ll be here at home waiting for you to give you a hug and have a family dinner.”

Things unfolded, and I had to say goodbye to you over a video call, where you told me, “Don’t cry, daughter, there will be another time.” You thanked me for so much love. I told you that you were my superhero, and you said you thanked God and life for all your wonderful children. Despite how much pain you were in and how worn-out you looked, you never cried or complained. You accepted every part of that process, without even knowing the full truth of your illness because we all decided not to tell you, Dad. We said our goodbyes before your voice faded away. I wasn’t physically with you in your final moments, and that weighs on me more than I can express in words. But you knew I was with you in spirit, and I still am, Dad, with all the love in my heart.

You’re gone, Dad, and with your departure, a part of me has gone too. But I know a part of you is still with me. All the moments we shared, all the lessons you taught me—I carry you with me in every step I take. Even though you’re not physically here anymore, your presence is with me, and your great love will continue to guide me. I’m aware that my farewell didn’t come with a physical hug, or warmth, but it carried the strength of a heart that loved you and will love you forever, Dad.

Thank you for everything you did for me and for my siblings. For every sacrifice, every gesture, and every word of support. Thank you for being our guide and protector. Today, the silence has spoken, and my farewell has been made. I hope that from where you are, you watch over all of us, the family you loved so much. Rest in peace, Dad.