1000 days without you

Tomorrow marks exactly 1,000 days since Leon left this world.

1,000 sunrises, 1,000 sunsets—and not a single one with him.

I haven't calculated how many hours or minutes that is.

Perhaps because it doesn't matter.

Because there is no number that can put the pain into words.

And even though 1,000 days sounds like a long time, it doesn't feel that way.

It's not “already” – it's “only.”

Because what lies ahead of me are many thousands more days.

Without you.

And the question of how I am supposed to bear this is the same every day.

Today I think of the song “Sailing.”

This quiet melody that tells of the sea, of a journey, of returning home to someone who is far away.

I see myself sailing on the endless ocean – sometimes in stormy seas, sometimes in calm waters, but always in the same direction.

Every wave carries the longing to arrive back at him one day.

“I am sailing, home again, 'cross the sea” – it's like an image that comforts me.

The idea that my course is clear, even if the destination is not here, not now, attainable.

Sometimes it feels like I'm drifting in a boat on an endless sea.

Every day is another wave I have to weather without you.

Some are smaller, some crash over me.

And somewhere, far beyond the horizon, I think I hear your voice – like back then, when we sang together.

I am with you again, for a heartbeat.

I don't know how I'm going to endure all the days to come.

Perhaps as before:

Hour by hour

Breath by breath.

With the hope that somewhere, sometime, there will be a moment when I see her again.

Until then – 1000 days... and counting.