When you find yourself immersed in solitude, waiting for a new conversation with that person who had always been by your side, only to discover that they’re no longer there—that they left ahead of time, without explanation—your life starts to feel like a movie without a script, with no clear scenes to keep the story going.

Everything turns into flashbacks, flashforwards, sequels, and prequels; a jumble of images that unsettle your peace and sometimes tempt you to give up. That’s how I felt for a long time.

But in the midst of that confusion, He appeared once again: my savior, protector, pilot of my life, and director of my story—God. With His love, He embraced me and said: “I am here. Stop for a moment, feel My presence, you are not alone. Breathe, and move forward.” I obeyed, and in one of those breaths, an idea arrived: Why not give some order to these scenes? Why not build a story that not only expressed what I felt but also carried empathy and hope?

It was nearly three in the morning when I got up to thank God and sat down to write. The words flowed on their own, like a dictation that didn’t need to pause. The images were so vivid that all I had to do was follow them.

Over time, writing became a wonderful routine. I would let myself go for hours without correcting a thing in the moment; later, when I reread after a rest, I relived what I had written and was able to continue. Reading my own words with my heart gave me the gift of rediscovering what I had lived, and also the challenge of balancing the editor with the writer who simply wants to tell, without filters, what burns inside.

It was hard to begin, because for a long time I rejected my profession: she—my wife—was part of all of it. We shared the craft, the friends, the work. It wasn’t about forgetting her, but about avoiding the pain of memories. Yet that pain taught me I had to transform it into something better. She always believed in the purpose behind everything, so I began to write as a dialogue: with myself, with God, with her. Each text was an outlet, but also a way of feeling how the weight was transformed into a different kind of love—deep, one that does not depend on matter to be expressed.

When I looked at everything I had written, I understood I needed to organize it, to create something real. So I returned to what I had set aside: the ability to tell stories through images. The emotion was so great that I felt my wife closer, helping me arrange things the way we used to. Even in dreams, she showed me scenes, places, and details. That’s why I say The Gift was built by the two of us.

That’s when I understood the magnitude of my work as an editor: after so many years, I discovered I did know how to tell stories and awaken emotions. I found a new purpose. Before, my driving force had been my family; once I was left alone, I needed something else to motivate me. God gave me The Gift: a dream and a goal, not only for myself but for those who silence their pain out of fear, out of duty, or because society insists that “it’s time to move on.” The truth is, there will always be moments of nostalgia, sadness, or anger.

The Gift is not therapy, nor consolation. It is transcendence. It is the proof that pain can be transformed, and that time is not what heals—it is what invites us to create.

And so I began to put everything in order: notes, memories, mental sketches. The great question was: What do I want to tell? And, above all, Where should I begin? Many would say, “From the start,” but how do you know what the beginning is when the story holds so much material? I chose to begin at the breaking point: the pain, which is also the place of reflection.

I do not seek to provoke pity. What I want, through these experiences, is to give voice to fears that belong to others as well, and at the same time to remember the moments of love, the caresses, the gestures that shaped our shared life.

Because it isn’t just about being faithful to a script—it’s about transmitting a feeling. About letting the images, the silences, and every detail speak from the soul. About showing love from another angle of the heart.

I don’t want to sound sentimental, nor create false expectations. I only wish to share with you the beginning of this journey: to make you part of a path that excites me with every step forward, and one I hope will also move you.