I did not think it had happened, it's okay, there's the urn and there was a gloomy and sad atmosphere but I thought they were going to say it was a joke, that I was not dead.
The coffin was on a stone, uncovered, everyone could pass and see her, but I did not want to, I was afraid to see her without life, I wanted to believe that she was not there but in that lonely room where her old age passed, she was there, I was sure, I do not know why everyone saw the coffin, she was waiting for us in that room to bless us all.
The prayers were low as a sob and the sobs had more of prayer than anything else, I think one should pray silently without uttering words, only transmitting what it feels like.
The cemetery was drawn above all and I felt bad, because I was losing a wonderful being, but those who were in those graves were no less wonderful? I felt bad because I wanted to tell her that I was wonderful, I felt sorry for all the dead, because there could be wonderful people that I would never know.
The memory I have of her are the afternoons of suffocating heat in her house, with the clothes stuck by the sweat and the eternal noise of the mosquitoes in my ears. She would sit quietly so that the breeze would hit her, and she would watch me play. In that silence of the two she felt that she was sad but she loved everything, her old house like her, the heat, sitting down to watch, loved everything. I remember that suddenly a big breeze that moved the leaves of the trees, I freaked out and looks at her with narrowed and big eyes, she looked at me tender, and told me:
"Play, do not pay attention." It's the only thing I remember.
They started loading the coffin and it was when I realized that I was not going to wait any longer in that old room, but that I was witnessing how they were taking her, and I did not know where she was. Because that cold body was not her, she was something bigger and beautiful, like the prayer without words.
And I said "thank you" because I almost never went to visit her, but when I went she loved me, she forgave me not to visit her, she looked at me as if she had spent her life with me and I missed her, a lot. God forgive as she forgave? I had not cried yet, but I started crying, I wanted to tell her not to take her away without forgiving me once again, that I loved her, I loved her for having the mercy that even if I had abandoned her, she did not feel resentful.
They began to sing one of those religious melodies with that sad tone; if melancholy had a voice were a religious song. And I was there, thinking how she was when I was young, if my funeral will be so sad, I wanted to ask everyone not to kill her, not to let her die.
I told someone, I forget who, I was singing, not to let her die. That he would always remember her, in that lonely room or on that hot afternoon. That she was not in the coffin, but there. Waiting to bless us all with your smile.
