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CARLOS MASSÓ MORA

Today would have been his Name Day. My brother Carlos’s onomastics.

Every year, this date reminds me not only of the celebration he would have had but also of everything he left unfinished in his life and in ours.

It has been thirty one years since he left and there are still days when I catch myself thinking of him as if he were still here. Thirty one years of silences, of memories that never age, of words left unspoken and of moments that never existed. Thirty one years of imagining all that could have been but wasn’t.

Sometimes I think of all that we missed, the words we didn’t say, the glances we never shared, the bond only siblings truly know. I wonder what his life would have been like, what he would have loved, what would have made him happy. And it hurts not to know. It hurts to have lost the life we could have had together and to have so much taken away by time.

Yet, beyond the pain, there is something inside me that has never stopped believing this is not the end. That, in the grand scheme of the universe, there is something more. That our souls —siblings forever— will find a way to meet again. That everything left to live will one day come true, in another life, or in another corner of time.

Until then, I carry his memory with me, present in every step. Sometimes it guides me. Sometimes it comforts me. Sometimes I feel his absence strongly. But he always accompanies me. He is not here, yet he remains a part of me.

Perhaps this world was not the full stage. Perhaps here only the first act of a much larger story was written. A certainty, as deep and steadfast as love itself, whispers to me: the best is yet to come. We will walk again without hurry, laugh without fear, look at each other without the weight of absence. The universe, patient and wise, will return every moment that time stole from us.

And while that day has not yet come, I hold on to memory. Because memory preserves love and love —the true love that springs from the soul— knows no end. It survives everything, even death. He continues to live in those who loved him, in our words, in our gestures, in the dreams that still name him. He remains here, in a thousand ways I cannot always understand, but can always feel.

And even though the world has kept turning without him, even though there are people I love who never got to meet him, I know that if they had, they would have loved him as much as I do. Because he was light. Because he still is.

I mourn not only his absence but all we could not build together, the advice, the differences we might have patiently overcome, the adventures, the laughter, the farewells that would never have been final. I feel the absence of all that, like an empty space time cannot fill.

I like to imagine him in a place where everything is possible, where every moment unfolds without hurry and every joy multiplies. There, the limits that separated us here do not exist. His laughter travels freely and his gaze discovers the secrets of the world we could only barely imagine. I think that in that space, he remains exactly who he was, but with infinite freedom and that somehow his energy continues moving through our world, ethereal, subtly nudging my life, my decisions, my days, like a silent wind that knows exactly where to blow.

Because true love does not end with a last breath. No death can erase such a deep bond. And when that moment comes, we will know it without doubt, like returning home after a journey that was too long.

Then there will be no hurry. What was not, will be. We will laugh, walk together and perhaps we will cry, but no longer for loss, only for reunion. For all that awaits us beyond this life.

Meanwhile, I remain here. Living, remembering, trying to move forward. His absence weighs on my heart, but his presence remains in the essential, in my thoughts, in my way of being, in the simple things of daily life. There is something of him in the way I see the world, in the way I face life. His presence is no longer visible, but it remains real.

Carlos is not here, yet he continues to be part of me. In every decision, every word, every emotion that connects me to the most human part of myself. Because he is and will always be an eternal fragment of my story, of my soul, of my being.

Thirty one years without him… and yet, thirty one years with me. In another way. In another form.
And still, I know —with all the force of a love that does not die— that the best between us has yet to happen.

In another life, under another sky, Carlos.
And this time, forever.

Francisco Massó Mora.

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