“I understood it before they told me.
I understood it from the silence, from the never-ending waiting, from the looks that dropped instead of meeting mine. Inside me, something was fading, minute by minute. The news didn’t hit like a sudden blow. It came slowly, as hope thinned and time seemed to stand still.
When they told me that Giovanni was gone, the world truly stopped. I didn’t scream. I remained standing, drained of strength, held up only by the love for my son and an enormous faith that, even in the fiercest pain, helped me not to collapse.
From that moment, the ‘after’ began.”
“Giovanni was a sun.
He never spoke badly of anyone, he always smiled. It’s hard to find a photo of him without that smile that lit up everything. He was good, pure, a boy who thought of others before himself. That’s why I keep calling him my angel, my white swan.
We told each other every day how much we loved each other. That love today is the only thing keeping me standing. His body is no longer here, but his soul is. I feel him near, I feel him watching me, I feel him living in every person who loved him. I hold his things to feel him still by my side. And I ask those who listen to never delay love, to never leave words unsaid, to throw away hatred. Giovanni taught me this without even knowing it. The pain remains. It will remain forever. But alongside the pain remains love—the true kind, the kind that never dies and that no one can ever take from me.”
Carla Masiello, mother of Giovanni Tamburi
