Today is a painful day.

Today, I wanted to share something deeply personal with you. My family has experienced a loss, and I've been trying to process it by putting my thoughts into words.

This isn't a post about new kits, and there's nothing you need to do. I simply wanted to share these words with the people who have supported my work and been part of this journey.

Thank you for being here, and for your kindness and understanding during this difficult time.

This morning, we woke up at our usual time.

There were three missed calls during the night. And somehow, I already knew what it was before we even called back.

In that moment, it felt as though we were trapped somewhere between a dream and reality, trying to comprehend something for which there simply are no words.

Today was supposed to be just another Monday.

I was going to get my hair cut at nine, Yasmin was going to work at eight, and we were going to meet at eleven thirty for lunch. I would make a spaghetti Bolognese, probably fattier than Yasmin would have liked. Afterwards, I would probably record a video for the channel, open Blender, and work on something. Just an ordinary Monday, filled with the little commitments that make up our lives.

I suggested that Yasmin return the call. Maybe it was something important.

“Hello, is everything okay? What happened?”

Silence.

“Yasmin, your mother...”

“But is she okay? Is she talking? What happened?”

And then came the answer neither of us ever wanted to hear:

“Listen carefully to what I’m about to tell you. Your. Mother. Has. Passed. Away.”

My mother-in-law passed away last night. Apparently, peacefully. Without us ever imagining that it would be her last night. Without a goodbye, without an opportunity to prepare ourselves, without a chance to understand that the time we thought we had was simply gone.

My mother-in-law moved to Portugal a few years ago, before the pandemic. Since then, we kept postponing our trip. There was always a reason, a difficulty, something that needed to be taken care of. And there was always a promise: “Next year.” When next year arrived, it became the year after that.

I proposed to Yasmin, and we began planning our lives with the future in mind. This year, we lost her aunt, who was like a second mother to her. We also gave up the wedding ceremony we had been planning so we could take care of our dogs' health and deal with the responsibilities we had here. And now, we have lost her mother.

Today, I find myself thinking about everything we postponed. All the times we believed there would still be time. All the opportunities we left for later because, deep down, we assumed that later was guaranteed.

Who could have imagined this would happen? She was so young! We always think we have time. That one day we'll visit, that one day we'll have a proper conversation, that one day we'll finally take that trip, that one day we'll do the things we promised.

Until one day is no longer an option.

I'm not writing this to suggest that we should abandon all our responsibilities and chase every desire that crosses our minds. Real life doesn't work that way. But perhaps we need to learn to recognize when we're putting something important off in the name of a future we treat as though it were certain.

Today, that certainty is gone for us.

My mother-in-law was a special person.

She and I would talk when things felt difficult. She had a great sense of humor. She was the kind of person who might lose a friend, but would never lose the opportunity to crack a joke. She had a lightness about her, even while carrying her own struggles.

It hurts to think about all the conversations we could still have had, the stories we could have shared, and the memories we will never get the chance to make.

Since we received the news, I've been trying to take care of everything that needs to be done. I'm managing the messages, receiving condolences, and trying to organize things as best I can. Yasmin decided to go to work, perhaps because she didn't want to sit still and face everything that had happened. And that's okay. Everyone finds their own way through grief. Sometimes we need to cry. Sometimes we need to talk. Sometimes we need to keep doing something, anything, just to get through the day.

I've put my own feelings into a little box, as though I could temporarily store them away while I take care of what's in front of me. I know I'll have to open that box eventually. For now, writing helps me sort through what I feel and find some meaning in a morning that seems to make no sense at all.

I don't know exactly how we're going to get through all of this.

Nobody really teaches us how to deal with death. I wish we learned from an early age about loss, grief, how to comfort someone who is suffering, and how to keep living when someone we love is no longer part of our everyday lives. Most importantly, I wish we learned how to support the people we love most when they go through something like this.

We learn so many things to build a life, yet almost nothing about how to face the moments when that life changes forever.

The only song that comes to mind today is Theme from a Summer Place. I can't really explain why.

I don't know what the future holds for us. All I know is that today I'm here, trying to take care of my wife, our family, and everything that needs to be done, while trying to comprehend that someone so important to us will no longer be on the other end of a phone call, in a conversation, or waiting for our next visit.

I'm so sorry we didn't do more sooner.

My mother-in-law, I wish we had had more time.

I wish we had gone to Portugal sooner. I wish we had shared more experiences together. I wish there had been more conversations, more laughter, and more opportunities to make memories. I have no doubt you would have taken us to see beautiful places and proudly shown us the incredible life you had built somewhere else!

I'm sorry for everything we left for later.

Thank you for the conversations, the humor, the kindness, and the moments when we could share our struggles and find a little lightness in them. Thank you for being part of my life and for raising the woman I love.

I don't know if there's a right way to say goodbye to someone. Maybe there isn't. Perhaps the answer is to try to carry with us what that person left behind. To me, the greatest treasure we have right now is our memories, because they are eternal.

Today, my family is grieving. My wife has lost her mother. And I have lost someone who was more than just my mother-in-law. She was someone with whom I shared affection, friendship, and trust.

May you rest in peace.

And may those of us who remain find the strength to carry on. May we learn to take better care of one another and to be more present in each other's lives.

Rest in peace. You will be deeply missed.

I never imagined that one day I would have to write something like this. When it comes to the people we love, we always hold on to the hope, and the certainty we wish we could have, that they will live forever.

I'm grateful to each and every one of you who has supported us and stood by our side. You give us strength, even in moments like these, when we feel at our most vulnerable.

Please, make the most of the time you have with the people you love. Don't let little problems drive you apart, and don't let postponing things keep you separated for too long.

Please. ❤️

Thank you.

A Summer Place Theme | WDR Funkhausorchester (YouTube)