No hubo un día que no estuviera con él, haciéndolo reír, echándole broma, complaciéndole sus caprichos, haciendo que él se olvidara de los dolores producidos por la enfermedad:

_Cuando salgas de aquí, papito, vamos a viajar y te voy a comprar el juego que quieres, pero no te antojes del más costoso -le decía y nos reíamos juntos.

Cada mejoría, la celebré y me aferré a ella como si fuera un salvavidas en mitad del frío océano. Jamás lloré en su presencia y ante el llanto de los demás, fui el hombro, la palabra de empuje, la que insistía que todo saldría bien. Creer que todo saldría bien, hacía que pudiera estar en pie, firme, dispuesta a todo.

Todas las imágenes son mías, de mi galería personay y el texto está traducido en Deepl

Gracias por vuestra lectura y comentarios. Hasta una próxima oportunidad

![Click here to read in englis]
When being optimistic is the only option
Exactly one year and three months ago, my youngest nephew, David, passed away. He was an 18-year-old athlete, an excellent student, a good son, a good friend, and a good nephew. In January 2023, he was diagnosed with bone cancer: news that broke us inside, but also brought us together as a family, in pain, but also in love.
Before that, with few exceptions, I had always been an optimistic, happy, cheerful person, full of hope. After my nephew's illness, it became even more urgent for me to maintain that attitude that has always characterized me. Because I believe that optimism and hope must appear precisely when it is easiest to give up, when everyone thinks there is nothing to be done, when it is easier to cry, when pessimism leaves us immobile. It is in those moments that we must embrace life and smile.
With that mindset, I was one of those who tried to take every moment of my nephew's illness as an opportunity to show him my support, my love, but above all my hope. Rather than thinking about his chances of survival, I was grateful to see him every day, to hug him, to have him close.
There wasn't a day that went by that I wasn't with him, making him laugh, joking with him, indulging his whims, helping him forget the pain caused by his illness. I celebrated every improvement and clung to it as if it were a lifeline in the middle of the cold ocean. I never cried in his presence, and when others cried, I was the shoulder to cry on, the encouraging word, the one who insisted that everything would be all right. Believing that everything would be all right kept me standing, firm, ready for anything.
So if I had to go up and down the stairs, I did so without complaining, quickly, with motivation. If I had to search pharmacies for a medicine that was out of stock, I looked for it thinking that I would find it and that it would be inexpensive. If I went to the hospital room, I tried to bring a smile, a gift, anything that would bring joy to others. I remember that I always brought my nephew yogurt, and he would say, “From the moment I wake up, I think of you, Auntie, and what kind of yogurt you'll bring me today.”
And you may ask yourselves: what was the point of being optimistic, if in the end cancer won? Well, it meant that my nephew spent his last months surrounded by love; that, despite the intense pain, he was able to smile at life. It brought my family closer together, so that now we can be grateful for every moment my nephew spent with us. My attitude kept me hoping for a miracle: because, believe it or not, miracles happen every day, you just have to be in line for them. Also, now, my optimism gives me the certainty that my nephew and I will meet again in another life, and the end of this story will be beautiful, different. A story in which he will graduate, get married, have children, and I will bring him yogurts of all flavors.