Death. Again it invaded my routine. Although indirectly and far away, it was still visible and palpable from where I am. Just like a fire in the neighbor’s house, you’re not actually hurt but you fear for what may come to you by seeing the suffering of your neighbors.
This time it was a grandfather’s of a childhood friend who had passed away. Before the funeral, on the day before, I and a friend went to the church to give him our condolences. I would like to help him more and before approaching I was thinking of any way to cheer him up. Then I realized that I don’t really know how much sadness he could be feeling, no matter how good I could chain my words, I would never be able to clean the sadness he had at that moment. No one could. First I approached the body of the deceased relative and performed the cross, a symbol that Christians do to pay honors for the person who had passed away as well as to symbolize their presence before God. After that, I turned around and greeted the father who was sat first on the horizontal benches, delivering my condolences to him. In the moment that my friend understood that it was me he immediately stood up and denied my hand for a handshake giving me a hug so strong that his feelings were somewhat passed on to me. We hugged for a moment and then I gave him my condolences and said that if he needs anything that I’m available for whatever he needs. My friend did the same after me and we went to the back of the church for a while before leaving.
It occurred to me that showing up even if only for a brief time just to give your support may be the best remedy for the person currently grieving. In time the wound will heal but the scar will be there until the end.