22/12/2025
She watched her mother buried at 6 and her father at 21. Never did she imagine that at 27 she would stand at the edge of her husband’s coffin, whispering goodbye to a love taken away much too young and too soon.
It was the first day of winter, 2018. The day the light starts to return, one almost unnoticeable minute at a time.
I didn’t know it then, but that day was both an ending and a beginning, the moment my heart chose to keep living, even with a crack running through it, like the sun promising to rise again after the longest night.
Later that day, the sky unfolded into a breathtaking palette of color. It felt like both a soft hello and goodbye, as if the universe were painting one last love letter across the horizon, reminding me that love does not disappear; it changes form and keeps finding new ways to touch the earth.
Seven years later, I look back at that 27‑year‑old widow and see the first fragile glow of a new chapter, like the sun slowly reclaiming the sky after the solstice, asking for patience as the days grow longer.
Grief was my longest night, but that sunset was my first proof that light would return. And it did 💫 I was held by an outpouring of love for me, and for Matteo, that I will never forget. 🙏
