Today, Michele woke up before sunrise, as if she knew the day was different. She opened her eyes and looked for me with that gaze that can’t explain anything, but understands everything. And when she saw me… she smiled. A huge, full smile, the kind that for a moment makes the house feel less empty. A year ago, I thought life had a script. I had plans, certainties, a “later.” And then suddenly, silence arrived. Since his mother passed away, everything that used to be simple has become a struggle: bathing him, feeding him, comforting him when he cries, singing softly to him when he can’t sleep, pretending to be strong when inside I’m breaking down. Sometimes I look at Michele and think about how unfair everything can be… and, at the same time, how miraculous it all is. He doesn’t understand the weight of dates. He doesn’t know what “missing” means. But I do. I feel it in every corner, in every moment when I wish she could watch him grow. And yet, every day I make myself the same promise: he will never feel alone. Not on difficult days. Not when I’m exhausted. Not even when I’m afraid I’m not enough. Today he turns one. A year of laughter that sustained me when I was on the edge. A year of long nights and mornings that start all over again. A year learning to be “everything he has”… and discovering that he became everything that keeps me standing. 🥺❤️