My son, I'm fine.”

After much more of a mother's life, a separation from her only son's life comes with a flash message writer Acka.

As she has found strength to thank all those who have been around her in these endless days of mourning and pain, she shares with all her acquaintances on the social network. FB, the biggest lecture her son gave her.

How to find land after the storm in the ocean of pain. And your proof that you really loved me starts now. If you want to know how to keep going. Do the best you can do! Write! Writing is your therapy. Do it, Mom, don't get in the spiral of pain, there loses”.

Acke Butterfly Posting

My precious friends,

Some days I've been trying to formulate a few lines of thanks for you, but it's been hard for me to sit down and write, even though I'm a man trained by the word. The leprosy that I passed through, and I am passing through, cooling the world with my heart, but the wave of human love and concern that has surrounded me these days, has made me feel an inestimable presence in this great loss. I didn't know I was in the midst of such a human defense, which, out of carelessness and incited day by day, I couldn't measure or understand properly. In the days of my acute affliction this presence appeared with all its weight and its concern and its moderation. Like, like nowhere. Very dear friends of my life, relatives and close family, took the streets across Europe to be close to me these days. Thousands of thousands and thousands of messages and phone calls, all the forms that technology invented, have reached me, along with the prayer that I feel are close to me.

In fact, they're right next to me, and I pray that I find the right tranquillity to answer and thank you with the same love that has written to me and address my loss these days. Readers, friends I've met in my life, humble citizens who have often stopped me on the street, many strangers, distant acquaintances, public people with whom I haven't yet been able to drink a coffee, writers' colleagues and people of Albanian culture, and not only, others who have followed me in my public attitudes, other friends, whose messages have been lost in social networks, have shared with me something from the weight of these days, the most of my life. To each one of them I give thanks, and my deep gratitude, to be glad to hear only glad tidings of them all.

Once, somewhere, I read that the only thing entirely ours is the past. But my son is not my past, he is my own life. With this premature departure, my Son rebuilt me as a man, taught me how to forgive the unforgiving, let me realize that it is not enough just to live with dignity, but to get away from this equally dignified life, and to try to cure even in flight, the premature wounds of loving beings near you. A young man open to the great world of international studies, a fanatic and fantastic European, a peaceful Dutch whose religion was law and freedom, a proud Albanian to my miracle, my son gave me the most strange and most important lecson of my life: How to find land after the storm in the ocean of pain.

And your proof that you really loved me starts now. If you want to know how to keep going. Do the best you can do! Write! Writing is your therapy. Do it, Mom, don't get into the pain spiral, you lose there. ”

Now I'm shocked and under the temptation to swallow this pain within me, but when I think of you, so much love that surrounds me, I move and I remember the way I should walk.

Sleep, Son, I'm fine! Whatever life I have, my days of life will be less than the thanks I have received from you. You were one of those days to enrich me with your flight, you came, and still, the smell of man!