My dearest Moni,
Today marks ten years since you left, a decade without you. I find it hard to believe. Sometimes it seems impossible that so much time has passed since the last time we saw each other. Ten years without hearing your silly laugh, without your phone calls, without teasing you. But also ten years in which you've accompanied me in some way.
This year I've done things I never thought possible, Moni. I've run three half marathons in barely two months. Three! Can you believe it? Me, the one who'd always thought running wasn't my thing. At school I struggled terribly to finish a single kilometre and for many years I thought I simply wasn't cut out for this. But you know what? At 43 and after becoming a mother, I've done it. And while I ran, I always thought of you.
I don't know if you remember that conversation we had many years ago when you told me you'd been running for two hours straight. I remember being left in shock thinking "Two hours? How is that possible?" especially because I think you were even worse than me at that back at school. In that moment you seemed like a heroine to me. And you were. That conversation stayed etched in me and it was one of the first things that came to mind when I decided to run for the first time after you left us forever. That first 10 km race in Madrid was for you. And although over these years I've run on and off, you've always been there in every step.
This year, more than ever, I felt that my legs were carrying you. That I was running for the two of us. That if you were able to, I could be too. I've proved to myself that there's no age, no excuses, no impossibilities. That, with determination, anything is possible. And you, Moni, were the engine that set all of this in motion.
It's not that I do these things because I feel I owe you something, but your memory inspires me constantly. It drives me to break limits, to live with more courage and to try to motivate others. Though I'll be honest with you, sometimes I feel I don't enjoy life as much as I should. I live with an endless to-do list, jumping from one thing to the next. This year, on top of that, a friend of mine lost her father unexpectedly and in a very short time. Her loss affected me deeply and brought back in a rush all the memories of those days when you left. Just when the memory of your passing was starting to feel more distant and, without realising it, I was starting to forget the most important lesson of all: that this life is fleeting, that we don't know when our time will come, and that you have to live with intention, with awareness, knowing that every day counts. I'm working on changing my attitude, on relaxing more and on learning to savour the present. I know life is short, and I don't forget that, thanks to you.
This year a phrase I heard stayed with me: 'wealth isn't about having money, it's about having time'. And I've felt that, from that point of view, this year I haven't been very rich. But I'm still working on it, I'm still on the path. I have many goals for improvement in the future and I hope I can tell you about the progress next year. I want to keep evolving, dreaming, learning to live with more calm and more meaning.
Today, ten years on, I'm still writing to you because I don't want this day to pass like any other. I want the world to remember you, for those who knew you to remember you, and for those who didn't to know that there was a wonderful woman called Mónica who left an indelible mark.
I miss you so much. I carry you in every stride, in every dream, in every new step I take.
I send you a great big kiss wherever you are,
Cristina, your sister.