La hora violeta

This book is a single-entry dictionary, the search for a word that does not exist in my language: the one that names the parents who have seen their children die. Children who are left without parents are orphans, and spouses who close their eyes to the corpse of their partner are widowers. But the parents who sign the papers for our children's funerals have no name or marital status. We are parents forever. Parents of a ghost that does not grow up, that does not get older, that we will never pick up from school, that will never meet a girl, that will not go to university and will not leave home. A son who will never upset us and whom we will never have to upset. A son who will never read the books we dedicate to him. The fact that no one has invented a word to name us condemns us to always live in a violet hour. Our clocks are not stopped, but they mark the same time over and over again. I evoke it in writing. I remember this year of my life with the hope of fixing his story and never making it a commonplace.