You never thought you'd survive, and yet you're alive, you're moving forward, from one day to the next, and for such a long time. You live, constantly fighting against his absence, against the fact that he was alive because that's what allowed him to become absent in the first place, against everyone else, because they've forgotten, and against yourself, because you're incapable of erasing it from your mind.
In spite of yourself, you are waiting for something else, but what?