This blog entry is a special one. I won’t be recommending any books. I’ll be doing something better: dedicating a few words to Silvia Adela Kohan, an author who passed away this week and was a part of my life for many years.
It is impossible for me to think of her as just an author. She was a friend along my journey. This is paying homage to someone who watched me grow professionally and was always by my side. A woman I deeply admire, who I met while I was very young and she was conducting interviews for her magazine Escribir y Publicar, and who never let me go.
She always gave me great professional advice, but with time she also became a wise friend, a second mother, as she used to say. Her advice was no longer just about work, but about life, as well. That is why I cannot help feeling sad.
She was more prepared for this moment than I was. Death is a part of life, but I still struggle to come to terms with the fact that along the way we lose the physical presence of people who left a mark on us and whom we will terribly miss. I have a feeling she will always stay close to me, but knowing I will never hear her voice or hold her in my arms again still hurts.
We shared books, projects, hopes, joys, worries, and conversations that went far beyond work. Through all those years, I learned from her intelligence, her sensitivity, and her extraordinary ability to help others understand themselves better and live more consciously. More often than not, she did this through literature.
As an author, I believe she has yet to receive the recognition she deserved, despite being one of the most knowledgeable people about literature I have ever known. But the publishing world is not always fair, and I hope that we can achieve what she wished for through her legacy.
Today I feel immense sadness, but also enormous gratitude.
Gratitude for her trust, her affection, her generosity, and every moment we shared. Some people pass through our lives, and others stay with us forever. She is one of the latter.
Her legacy will live on in her books, her teachings, and all the people she helped use writing as a tool in life. I will forever treasure her smile, our conversations, and the pride of having been her agent, but above all having been able to call her my friend—one of those true friends who are so rare.
Thank you for everything, Silvia. Thankfully, during the last times we met, we were able to whisper to each other those important things we always said when we were together. Our last trip to the theatre was wonderful. At our dinner with authors who are also friends, I was able to sit beside you and hold your hand beneath the tablecloth, giving each other strength as we always did. And the effort you made to come to our 25th anniversary, the last time I saw you in person. It became our farewell: a long embrace, a few whispered words, and your eyes said everything else: “Keep going, Sandra, my girl. You’ve worked hard, and you’re on the right path.”
I know you are somewhere wonderful, where all the good people deserve to be, and that from there you will continue to guide me, tell me the truth, always encourage me to keep going. Rest in peace, my friend.
