You died on Halloween night. While on the other side of the window the city played at dressing up as death, in the room the real thing was occurring. Those you needed were present. You passed away with a beautiful gesture, just as you were and continue to be.
After notifying the mutual insurance company, I received a message with a link for condolences; the name that appeared was my own. Even for me, a great fan of dark humour, it felt slightly excessive.
I called and they created another without deleting the first; thus, by mistake, that All Hallows' Eve I had my own obituary open to the world. Just when I was losing you, the most important person in my life.
Against the advice of those who understand grief, I spent the wake, the funeral, and the following weeks as alone as I could, in the company of Keka, your little Yorkshire terrier whom you entrusted to my care. Months later I understood the reason and the purpose of surrounding oneself with others, but I needed it to be this way. Beneath the pain there was a strange peace: that of knowing I was always there, that I gave myself entirely; one I did not wish to share with anyone because there was nothing to console; something quiet and mine, yours and mine.
It has only been a few days since our Keka also departed, and I imagine her by your side. And, although I expect nothing from the afterlife nor do I believe that you are in any place awaiting us, I feel you with me and not as a memory. I speak to you and send kisses. And 'mental WhatsApps', messages that you will not read and which, nevertheless, arise within me. And every day I bid you goodnight and receive an answer in the bond, without anything more.
Every Halloween, when the city fills with disguised death, I close the door and remain with the real thing. I do not celebrate it. I remain alone with you and I speak to you in silence, and I feel that not even death will break us. The obituary was corrected that night. What truly remained written cannot be corrected by anyone, for it is not a mistake: it is the only thing that did not depart.