It's like when there is fog and our eyes struggle to see our surroundings clearly: and amid this snow-white expanse, we lost Matilde.
A death on the job, what she loved to do, a tragedy that seems absurd to touch a young athlete. Yet, the work of the sportsman has all kinds of fatal cases and probably thousands of protocols would not be enough to avoid them.
She was young and beautiful, and her smile that we knew from the photos overwhelms us along with the incredulity of what happened. We avoid giving importance to the where and how, better to understand the why. We need a response to family, to young people, to sport.
Nothing is worse than a father or mother surviving their daughters and sons. The death of Simoncelli, who fell on a motorcycling track, a sport that, like others, is not immune to danger, comes to mind.
And it is the father who remembers him and makes it a reason for human endurance in the face of a pain that is impossible to somatise. This is certainly also the case for Matilde's family.
If to her we address an emotional thought and a heartfelt prayer, to her relatives we dedicate the most fraternal embrace possible.
Of her we do not care to know her sporting palmares and the prospects that awaited her.
Too strong is the pain that comes with an axiom: you cannot die at 19 years.
Bye Matilde,
