I used to love Christmas. Hard. I would be full of expectations two weeks prior to the 24th – my Grandma would start her shopping trips to the supermarket (oh, the food…), Mom would be trying to lie to us in order to buy our presents… And the day would come with my Grandpa dressed as Santa (such a skinny Santa…), my dad clearly drunk and all the kids (me included) fighting for no aparent reason.

I lost my grandparents a long time ago. Grandma was the first to go – years later, my Granpa. And I guess Christmas could just not be the same without them. So, for years and years, this date was a bit crazy – to me. Because I want to love it again, but those who made me love it are not here anymore. It is a pleasure to see all my cousins, my beloved uncles, the children… But I miss Adair and her Geraldinho. I miss my cousins and I stealing things from my Grandpa workshop to play with. I miss that old blue house. There is no longer the smell of gas in the bucket, where Grandpa’s jumpsuits were soggy. Egg yarn is missing, and I hate egg yarn. There is no raisin and I would love to remove it from the world.

But I guess I found a strange new love for Christmas – my nieces and nephews. Seeing my mom and aunts reign supreme. My dad always drunk and laughing on his own. The crazy fights we get into every time and we can’t even pinpoint what the actual fuck we were fighting about. I hate Cristmas – but I love it.

I really wish both of you were here – to be mad at us for fighting, or not eating enough. Or forcing us to do something we don’t want to. Or cooking things we couldn’t care about (but we would probably eat anyway). I wish I had picked up the phone that day, your last night on earth and told you how much I love you, Grandma. I regret every time I spoke to you and didn’t shout to the world how much I love you. I wish I could have hold your hand trough every chemio session you had, Grandpa. I wish I could have fought earlier with Nancy and let you drank all the fucking Coke in the world. I wish you could have see me that last Sunday afternoon, hours before you left.

I love you. And I love Christmas again, because of you.

I shared a couple of months ago my letter to my dear friend Nick, who lives in Australia. A few days later, he sent me a letter. Such a beautiful, strong letter, I asked him to share with you. Here it is.

Dearest Lucila,

I am sorry it took all of today for me to respond. I have read your letter so many times tonight, and cried each time. I don’t think I know how to properly thank you. The letter is beautiful. Your words are magic.

I still remember the night we met. You are right, it was two-and-a-half years ago now, and so much has happened for us both. We shared delicious food. Maybe one too many cocktails. But great company. Lots of laughs. And a connection of minds.

My dear friend, I thank you for your kind words in the letter. It gave me such strength. For tonight you made me forget my pain. For a while you made me believe humpty-dumpty could be put back together again.

Yet for now, here we are. Your words so perfectly sum up how I feel at the moment, and no doubt how you feel as well. Questions. Anger. Hurt. So much emotion. So many tears cried. So much blood spilt. We are both broken, aren’t we? We want to scream. And we want to shut ourselves away from the world because the pain is too unbearable. Far too unbearable.

But what can take away the pain? Perhaps, as you write – time. Though right now I can barely believe it.

I wanted a love story. An epic one. One that spanned countries, continents, oceans, years, decades. Because that’s what love should make you want to do. It may be a cliché, but this quote from Gabriel Garcia Marquez always stayed with me: “Ningun lugar en la vida es más triste que una cama vacia.” I hate my empty bed.

But I love your optimism, Lucila. It is one of the many reasons you are such an inspiring woman to me and all those who know you. Because you are so much stronger than even you may believe. Oh, I wish I was as strong and brave as you, dear Lucila!

I too hope we can sit together a year from now, somewhere in the world, and both smile again with those smiles we used to have. And know that we have survived the deepest of cuts and the darkest of nights.

We had to risk it all, didn’t we? We didn’t have a choice. For you are right. Love is the greatest adventure. We had to take the chance. We had to try. And for love, we will try again.

Yours always,

Nick.