Day 17 Without You

I need to write this out of me. I could have never imagined finding myself in a situation like this. I didn’t know that emotional heartbreak could be this physically excruciating.

The longing is unbearable. The feeling of love is overwhelming. I don’t know what I would give to undo what has happened.

Today has been unbearably hard. A complete collapse. I cannot accept that you are no longer here. I love you. I miss you. I keep your hoodie with me because it still carries your scent.

The first three days after it happened were a complete blur. I remember nothing. Shock. Confusion. Why? Self-blame. A few days later, I felt anger. Now it is unbearable longing. I cannot come to terms with this. I lost you in my own hands while trying to bring you back to life. That hope—when they took you away in the ambulance—that everything would still be okay and you would come back… unbearable.

It is so damn hard to hold myself together. You made me coffee every morning. Every morning my eyes fill with tears when I look at your coffee glass. For years, we had this habit—we had identical frappe glasses. Always two. And just before everything happened, one broke, and I was so happy when I found an identical one to replace it.

Day 17 without you. 17 was your racing number. April 17 is our first daughter’s birthday.

A big part of my heart is gone. Today is Good Friday in Greece. I can hear church bells ringing from a distant village. It is so hard to exist. I feel like a failure for not being able to save you, for not being able to help you heal. My eyes keep filling with tears again and again. I want you to come and wrap your arms around me. It is so harsh. So hollow. So empty.

Before this, I would have never shared my deepest feelings and thoughts like this. But now I feel the need to encourage everyone in the world—always share what you feel and think. Don’t keep it all inside. It does not end well.

It’s hard to find even a moment for my own thoughts or actions. Just a moment ago, the youngest had another complete breakdown. There is so much frustration and likely confusion inside them. She turned a bag of nuts upside down onto the floor and tore her sister’s drawings apart. We ended it with big hugs and comfort.

Now the landlord’s father stopped by. He said Tuljo did a good job with the chicken coop and that the chickens are doing well. There are so many eggs that he asked if I need more. He reassured me again that they will help and support us in every way.

Mr. Ilias comforted me from the very first days, saying, “Maria, you are now at the very bottom of your life, and slowly, step by step, you will start moving upward.” Yes… Life has been harsh. As a child, I lost my brother in a motorcycle accident. I lived with a violent alcoholic father who eventually took his own life when I was 17. Depression. My own suicidal thoughts. I remember being about 15, looking out of a school window, wondering whether I should end my life and if that pine branch would be suitable—or whether I should kill my father.

But to find myself in this situation now… a widow with three small children. This truly is the lowest point of my life. The hardest place to be and to carry through.

And yet, while I am at the hardest point of my life, I am physically in the most supportive environment in the world. If I were in my home country, I would probably have cried my eyes out alone. But here in Crete, everything is different. I have never in my life felt as cared for as I do now.

While in Estonia, I receive daily messages from curious people asking what happened to Tuljo—where, how, and when—here, no one ever asks that. Here, everyone focuses on truly supporting us. Kind words face to face. People understand, feel with you, and think and act in ways that help us get our lives back together.

I am incredibly grateful for how supported we are by the people here. We are not alone. I can feel how this whole dear community is holding and supporting us. One day, I want to give so much back to all of you. We are being looked after, cared for, making sure everything is okay. Even today, when I had a very hard day and completely broke down, the landlord and his wife took the children out for a beach day.

It was the people here—their mindset, their culture—that drew us to this place. And now I feel it with all my heart. Their kindness, humanity, warmth, and wisdom are beyond words. This cannot truly be explained—it can only be experienced.

Thank you, thank you, thank you to all the kind and caring people, both here and in Estonia, who have supported us during this incredibly difficult time. I feel that we are not alone. And without a doubt, we have been deeply held here. I have not been allowed to fall into a dark hole.

At the same time, I want to encourage people back home: in a situation like this, there is no need to hold back, thinking you might be bothering someone. No. Reach out. Support. Let the person know they are not alone in their pain. It matters more than you can imagine.

It is very hard to exist right now, but from the bottom of my heart—thank you to all of you, near and far.