Dear Director,
We are the mother, father, and sister of Riccardo Rundine, the boy who disappeared last July 8th in the “Valle della Luna” - Santa Teresa di Gallura.
We thought long and hard before writing to you, but today we have found the courage to do so, especially in light of some articles that appeared in the Unione Sarda and, above all, the comments that followed on social media, often lacking respect and understanding.
Journalists' work should aim to bring people closer to the truth by educating, investigating, gathering information from diverse sources, and protecting the dignity and privacy of those involved.
Unfortunately, what has been done regarding our son's situation resembles more of a scaremongering by users with decontextualized information, which has ended up painting a partial, superficial, and painfully distorted picture of Riccardo. Drugs, substances, and alcohol have been mentioned, as if these details were enough to describe a person. The result? An avalanche of judgments and cruel comments from those who don't know, but pass judgment.
But what is the truth?
The truth is that psychological distress is real, as tangible as drinking water, until it turns into a bitter substance that burns inside. It's present like the sun, until we find ourselves plunged into darkness. It's as concrete as the earth beneath our feet, until we discover it's gone. In mental suffering, all of this happens, and all of this must be acknowledged, not demonized. It must be listened to, not judged.
The face of depression is often invisible. It takes different forms. Prejudice hides it, indifference fuels it. And those who suffer from it are often left alone.
The offensive comments written by some users on social media have only increased our pain.
We would also like to say a few words about the place where Riccardo disappeared. Much has been said about this too, often inappropriately. It's as if some people needed to vent their anger, their malice, by denigrating what they don't know. But why attack such a beautiful place, where sky and earth seem to touch, and the moon reflects on the sea, creating a marvelous scene? That place, which some have sought to denigrate, is sacred to us; it is there that his eyes saw, for the last time, the sky and the sea merge in a peaceful embrace, a corner of paradise, his favorite place.
Yes, dear Director, that's the right definition. Those who have actually been there know it well.
Our hearts are broken. Nothing can give us back what was most precious to us: our son, Chiara's older brother.
If you'll allow us, we'd like to introduce Riccardo to those who have written unkind things about him, passing unsolicited judgments. Riccardo was a young man who loved life, who knew how to find beauty in the little things, and who had a sensitive and rebellious soul. He loved travel, which he had recently abandoned due to his physical condition. He was an avid reader, and he loved history—especially that of his beloved Sardinia—philosophy, and poetry. He wrote his own, sometimes dark, sometimes full of light and hope. They followed the unfolding of his inner world, ever-changing and profound.
He loved and deeply respected women, and from this love were born verses like these, which we have chosen in a world where women still suffer violence and lose their lives in the name of a sick love:
:
(…) You are comets not yet explored,
deep abysses of all the waters of the Cosmos,
music not yet heard,
mysteries of an expanding Universe,
you are the light and the thought that haunts us at night
while we dream of the immensity of your gazes (…)
This was Riccardo, a young man who felt and lived deeply. A delicate soul.
It's not yet time for us to reread everything he's written. The pain is too great, but we will.
And we'd also like to tell you who Riccardo was to his sister Chiara, his "little sister—his sunshine," as he called her. His words, spoken in church with enormous strength and courage, left us breathless:
“Dear brother, the last conversation we had was symbolic: you told me, 'We are born alone and we die alone.' Yet today you are surrounded by an infinite and pervasive love, a testament to the person you are. You felt my heart beating in our mother's womb, you saw me born, and like a guardian, you have always watched over me. Now that you are no longer here, your presence pervades our every day and, like the sun, generates light. You were always searching for answers, an avid reader, trying to fully understand the meaning of life, pain, and happiness. Your nature led you to explore distant places, from which you brought us tales filled with wonder. A deep faith in something greater guided you. Until you rejoined your beloved land, in your heart's place: the Valley of the Moon. Walking, breathing, and living without you will be the most difficult test, but I have faith that all this pain is also the measure of the love you have sown. May the earth rest lightly upon you, and may your delicate May your heart find eternal peace. We love you.”
These words also inspired the choice of the song “È delicato” by Zucchero, sung at the end of the religious service in the square of the Church of the Holy Family.
Now we find ourselves dealing with an absence they call "mourning." But it's also a mourning of ourselves, because we must say goodbye not only to Riccardo, but also to the people we were before his loss.
Those of us who are experiencing similar pain will be able to recognize ourselves in these words and feel, at least for a moment, that we are not alone.
We thank you, dear Director, for your kind words. It's a small gesture, but for us it's a great act of love for our son and brother.
With gratitude,
Giuseppina Piras , Riccardo's mother
Roberto Rundine , father
Chiara Rundine , sister
