Our neighbour’s Nonna died this morning aged 92. For Bascianella’s earthquake-hit church (that still remains scaffolded, barricaded & unused) the bells managed to be pealed in a death knell, a slow mourning tribute to her first thing this morning, alerting everyone that someone in Bascianella was no longer physically in the village, rung it seems to count her many years.
This evening our small narrow alley is heady with the smell of the bouquets & bouquets of lilies that sit in large buckets provided by the funeral directors; the village and her family who have driven from as far away as Luxembourg are gathered outside in a very traditional-style wake, ready for her funeral tomorrow. How many changes just in our little alley had she witnessed since 1919…? no doubt those and an abundance of good memories are being shared tonight.
Condolences are difficult at the best of times, let alone in a non-native land, with our inadequately accented attempts seeming clumsier than ever… perhaps instead we can offer as an alternative this evening’s dancing fireflies whose colourful light always bring an eternal smile. RIP.