Fernan’s mom went home. She’s gone in a few days, with no time to understand. There is never time to understand a mother’s departure, but the pandemic is taking away our loved ones in a hurry, without warning, without a moment to sit down, look at each other, talk and be silent.
Our grandparents are been taken away in a way we would never want, alone, isolated, without them being able to understand what is happening to them, without the possibility of hugging them, caressing them, telling them what they have been for our lives, giving them the peace of our company, the warmth of our chest, without being able to hold their hand.
Fernan’s mother had a small gift; her grandson Jon was able to spend a time with her, telling her things and connecting the phone so she could talk to the whole family. She was able to talk to everyone and everyone was able to talk to her. Jon held her hand.
This is the photo. All the protections of Jon’s hand do not conceal the love that comes from his hand to his grandmother’s; you may see the grandmother quietly resting her hand on his grandson’s one, confident, in peace. It is the same hand that a few hours later the Lord took to bring her home.
A hymn is opening its way in the heart: “Precious Lord, take my hand, lead me home”.
Precious Lord, take my hand
Lead me on, let me stand
I’m tired, I’m weak, I’m lone
Through the storm, through the night
Lead me on to the light
Take my hand, precious Lord, lead me home.
X. Manuel Suárez García