At the entrance of the church which sounds the death knell, two young people take comfort in each other. They seem to be 25 to 28 years old and come to bury a relative, I don’t know who. Looking at the front rows, where the under-30s seem to be the most numerous, the deceased must be one of them – a college buddy or a young professional from the same company, maybe a cousin, maybe even a brother or sister. a sister. Going up the central aisle, they meet in the nave other young adults, obviously all tried.
On the occasion of mourning, the ceremonies do not all have the same intensity, the sorrow is not always so palpable. This morning, I feel it even before mass begins.
Ahead of my next meeting, I crossed the threshold of the church somewhat by chance. The sanctuary could have been deserted. I actually come across a funeral. It may seem curious but, without knowing anything about the deceased or those who mourn him, I share in the grief of the latter. I have half an hour in front of me: come on, I will attend the beginning of the celebration.
Losing a child, a big child as I think I can guess, must be terrible. I wonder how I would cope. All in my thoughts, I listen only absent-mindedly to the words of welcome spoken by one of the family members, then by the priest. I only hear one first name, Juani. Enough to arouse my curiosity now.
“I was wrong in imagining the deceased as a young adult. It is a grandmother, in fact, whose funeral is celebrated ”
A few moments later, I learn the rest. I was wrong in imagining the deceased as a young adult. It’s a grandmother, in fact, whose funeral we are celebrating this morning. A beautiful figure, will be emphasized during the ceremony. A woman of courage and generosity, forever marked by the Francoist Spain of her youth.
→ READ. What grandparents want to pass on
The assistance brings together all generations, but it is the eyes of young adults that immediately grabbed me. Thus the tears seen at the entrance of the church were not addressed to a classmate who died too early; they expressed the inconsolable grief of the descendants of Juani, a very old lady, at the end of her long existence.
The memory of this funeral, to which I kind of invited myself, comes back to me during another ceremony. We accompany a slightly older friend to his last home. The crowd is large, at the church and as far as the cemetery. I recognize the children and grandchildren of the deceased. And even the youngest of the granddaughters. To her parents and grandparents, all these last years, this great teenager has shown all the colors. But today she is there. Almost discreet, as if rid of the character that sticks to her skin.
At the time of the gesture that everyone is invited to make in front of the coffin, before it is buried, the young girl comes forward, a felt-tip pen in her hand. She writes a few words. I will decipher them a few seconds later by approaching in my turn. It’s very simple: ” We will miss you. Thank you for everything. ” The deceased I have known, like those I would have liked to know, can rest in peace. Their grandchildren do not forget them.