#hereforzack

2019 was not a great year for me. But to explain why, I must first wind the clocks back to June 2018.

So, here's the thing. My best buddy, someone I loved as though he was my own brother - my best friend for over 25 years, was admitted to hospital halfway through 2018. After experiencing an array of weird symptoms, doctors found there was a tumor in his head. At that time we didn't know whether it was benign or malign, but one thing was clear, he would need brain surgery to remove as much of it as possible. And, since it was located in the area of the brain responsible for communication, he would have to be awake during the procedure.

And so he went through it, and did so like a champ. He showed us all how brave he was at that time. Surgery was a major success - the neurosurgeon in charge couldn't be happier about it, and my dear friend began to recover from the process very quickly. However, he wasn't out of the woods. Not yet.

The results of the tumor biopsy revealed it was indeed malign, and extremely aggressive. As soon as he was feeling strong enough he was discharged from the hospital, and soon after he started his treatment: chemotherapy and radiotherapy at the same time. That's how aggressive his cancer was.

And then, in the following months, it's when he truly showed us how strong and valiant he was -men are brave-. He fought cancer like a Spartan for half a year; being able to spend most of his time at home, with his loving wife and two kids. With all his family and friends. But the disease was relentless and after a few months it was clear to the doctors that the treatment was not working as it should have.

February 15 2019, a day I will never forget: he finally moved on and found some peace away from his pain, as the cancer finally put him to rest. It was devastating for all of us who were lucky enough to get to know him well for years - to share a part of our lives with him, and enjoy his passion for life and how funny, and ingenious, and generous, and kind he was. It was at the same time kind of a relief to know he was not in pain anymore, because in those last weeks before he passed away, even morphine wasn't all that efficient.

I was lucky enough to be one of those people who got to know him well. I was there with him when he first met the love of his life. I was there with him when he met his parents-in-law for the first time (I remember he was so nervous that day he asked me to accompany him).

I was there with him when he got married, when his kids were born... And when he got admitted to hospital with the most terrifying possible news, I promised myself he would not be alone.

I would come to pay him a visit every day in the afternoon, and I would not leave him until the visit time was over in the evening. I would bring him entertainment: movies for him to watch on his tablet, magazines about sport cars or video games, even some simple presents to surprise him. And above all else, I would keep him company. I would also give his wife a lift whenever she needed it. I was simply their friend.

For weeks I went to see him to the hospital every day, until, after having recovered from surgery, he was discharged. Then, I would often come over his place to see him and his family. His wife would ask me to stay with him when she and the kids (still very young) weren't around so that he would not be alone. I'd fix him some food, help him go to the bathroom, walk with him, watch a movie together, just like we had so many times before through the years.

And then, he was gone. And I, who have myself been fighting a chronic disease for a decade -although not in the slightest as fatal and terrible as cancer is-, felt empty. Like a hollow shell. Symptoms of my own condition got worse, and due to a complication regarding a hemorrhoid related issue, I almost bled to death just a month after my brother had passed on. I had to be admitted to ER, and I was given three bags of blood. Doctors and nurses kept telling me I was lucky to have such a young and strong heart. But, at 41, in that precise moment, I wasn't feeling that lucky. And no, I didn't want to die, but it somehow felt like I no longer wanted to live either. Or, at least, I didn't care about whether I lived or not. Yet, I endured and I kept fighting. Because I knew my friend would have wanted me to -he wanted me to-. Just as he had.

After spending a week in hospital, I was discharged. I'd need to see some new doctors, so I did that. And in june, just a year after my bud had been admitted to hospital, I finally got the surgery I needed. The procedure itself was successful, and just a day later I was back home to start my recovery. However, only two days later there was a complication - not grave, just painful. It made my recovery all that more painful because of it. That's all.

But you know what? Now, I embraced the pain. By then I was already taking just a tiny fraction of the painkillers I had been prescribed. Pain was my dark passenger, a reminder that I was still alive, and now I really wanted to live. Pain was a necessary evil for me back then, if you will. I wanted to show my loved ones -including and particularly the one I had just lost-, that men are still good. I needed to show my friend I was going to be resilient, because I knew he was watching over me.

The good doctor who performed the surgery was shocked when I confessed I wasn't taking the dosage of the medication I was given. I just told him that I could cope with it and wanted to keep the pills to a bare minimum. He wouldn't understand, but I did.

I haven't mentioned this yet, but due to my syndrome my pain threshold is way lower than the average. So, yeah, it was hard, but totally doable. Was it worth it? Damn right it was!

So just a few days after that conversation with my doctor took place, I quit the painkillers altogether, and finished my recovery without them.

2019 was also hard because more people close to me suffered some accidents and had to be admitted to hospital as well. I don't remember a single year in my life when so many people around me ended up in hospital.

A good friend of mine fell down from her bicycle and broke her leg in three parts - needed surgery. And that happened just two days after my best friend had died.

And my best pal's mom was also admitted to hospital not long after this with pneumonia and a stroke, so her condition was serious, to the point where I even thought she was not gonna make it. Especially after having just lost a son. But she did, and she's still among us, God bless her. I can't imagine how painful it must be for a parent to lose a child.

So last year I thought a lot about Zack. And little by little I started to learn more about his true movie, the one we haven't seen yet. I learned more and more details about all that ugly injustice surrounding a kind soul and artist when he was going through Hell on Earth.

I don't know what it feels like to lose a child. But I do know pain. So I'm now here for him, for his whole family who have been going through something hard to imagine for most people.

Now I'm on the trenches along with all those who have been fighting, longer than me, to get him back where he belongs. To make sure Justice is served for him, his family, and all the cast and crew members who worked their asses off on Justice League.

You guys from the #ReleaseTheSnyderCut movement have become kind of a family to me too. And I look after those I care about.

Moreover, Zack Snyder's movies, particularly Man of Steel and Batman v Superman, became an anchor for me to cling onto when everything else was falling apart. And I know I'm not alone - I've been reading heartbreaking stories, similar to mine, for a while now.

My best friend, Damián, never watched the true Justice League, and I know for a fact that he would have loved to. He was a fan of Zack's movies and so am I.

However, I'm hopeful that, one day soon, when it's finally released and I get to see it, he'll be right by my side, smiling at me, and so will Autumn at her loving family.

#ReleaseTheSnyderCut