I underwent psychotherapy for ten years, these were the hardest years, but also the most beautiful, because they permitted me to realize many things, to reconstruct myself. Without that I could not have reached this point.

One is never the same, one’s life is smashed. I needed to do a lot of work on myself. What helped to save me was the spiritual journey I have been on throughout these years, a great deal of reading of Hindu and Buddhist texts. I’m not Catholic, though my family was. And of course I was very angry with Him. There is some kind of superior energy, a cosmic force, and I was furious with Him. Today I am once again happy to be alive, I have my grandchildren and so on. Today I can say, ‘I have won.’

I think that this meeting with you today is not chance, there is a deeper reason to all this. It is a beautiful story, and that is the important thing. Perhaps through this book the memory of my son can live once more.

Postscript

Postscript
Seven Years Later

To my sons . . . to my family . . . to my friends and to all strangers . . .

This is a message, a message of love and hope. May it help to heal, may it smooth the way towards a life of serenity, a life that opens its arms to us if only we dare to look in its direction.

It took me over twenty years to ‘deliver’ my suffering, more than twenty years during which I lost my footing, skimmed the very brink of madness, visited the depths, plunged into the darkest abyss. I stumbled many a time, picking myself up painfully each time, knees and heart bloodied.

During all these years, I tried as hard as I could to keep on course . . . to steer straight in a stormy sea. My tortured mother’s heart didn’t know which direction to take. In the depths of darkness my departed son called to me ceaselessly . . . holding out his arms tirelessly, tearing at me with a nameless grief. Meanwhile, on the ship, my other sons clung to the rail in all their despair, never letting go of my hand and praying that I not abandon them. I wore myself out try to be there for them all . . . How much suffering I imposed on all my sons, Maurice included.

A chaotic existence, full of contradictions – what I went through no beast could have survived. During these interminable years, I clung to the rudder, never once setting foot on dry land.

The way has been long . . . very long . . . I drifted far off course, before finally coming to understand the reason for my suffering, understanding that life is offered to us only for one brief moment, that we must live it to the full, whatever it may bring. Living it in half measure would not bring my much-loved son back to life.