Hi, son.
This is the first time I’ve written here. It doesn’t mean I love you any less than your father does. Speaking of him… believe me: your dad is the best father in the world, and I’m so lucky to have chosen him to walk by my side in this life.
Bronchiolitis took you away from my breast. The place where you should have been was taken over by a tube that went into your lungs. For a long time, I hoped that this tube would give way to my breast again. But after five months in the hospital, I could no longer keep my milk.
So I had to find silence. A lot of silence. And a lot of prayer. To try to reconnect with you. Many times I failed. Plates were broken—as we say in Brazil when life feels like a constant balancing act.
Son, today all my energy goes into listening to you and watching you. Listening to everything you have to say through your behavior, your gaze, and your small signs.
Amidst a million pieces of advice from professionals and family, the noise of traffic, behind a window with bars, under a gray sky without stars… trying to listen to you in the middle of all this chaos is a great challenge.
In the middle of all this, I don’t know exactly what the Divine wanted to show us. But one day something unexpected happened: the entire floor of that apartment where I felt trapped simply broke. Right in the only space where you could play.
And according to the doctors, that place was no longer advisable for you because of the illness you were diagnosed with. I don’t say you have this disease. I prefer to believe in miracles. I want you to be a witness that your lungs can regenerate.
Your mother has always been a dreamer.
A dreamer to the point of believing that one day you would return to our home. The house where I always imagined you playing with the little frogs and lizards, running through the yard, getting your hands dirty with soil, eating grass, catching ants, looking at our star-filled sky, breathing fresh air, right by the beach.
I imagined myself cooking while watching you play freely.
And this dream, which seemed almost impossible… happened.
We came to Barrinha, the best place in the world.
Here, people look you in the eye. People say good morning on the street. Here, people still take care of one another.
There’s the village market and the local health clinic. Here, they do home exams when necessary. This is where I had all my prenatal care. I even had ultrasounds with SAS Brasil. The health agent stops by our house, talks, listens, and cares.
Here you eat fresh fish, fresh lobster, food that comes from the sea.
The neighbors pick mangoes from the trees and give them to us with affection; everything is genuine.
Here, the noise isn’t from the city. The sound that fills the days is that of coconut leaves, cicadas, chickens, birds, dogs, and cats.
Now we are doing a test, son. We want to see how you adapt to this dream that I call real life. A place where nature can strengthen your body, your breathing, and your immunity.
And I dream that soon you’ll be able to take off this catheter.
And where I hope you can simply be a child.
I love you, my Pocoio.
Mãe
