Grief remembered

I was grateful for a slow start this morning with a late service at Alhaurin. Once I was behind the wheel of the car, my nervousness dissipated, and the drive to church was uneventful. There were thirteen of us for the service, but the car park surrounding was full of cars, possibly because the thanatorio next door was hosting a pre-funeral 'viewing', when relatives and friends can gather to pay their respects and pray around the body of the deceased. What took us by surprise after the service was the arrival of a couple of funeral company workers to get the chapel ready for another funeral service. 

Then a young priest arrived, and we chatted in a mix of English and Spanish as he hunted through the 'Catholic' cupboard for the Communion set, wine and wafers. Apparently he was a visitor, unfamiliar with the set-up. He told me he was officiating at a funeral Mass for his abuela. A tough call for a young cleric. I was reminded of my own early years in ministry when I lost both parents, grandfather, uncle and father in law within twenty months. It's fifty years ago already. The intensity of the memory fades, but it never completely fades away.

As he was about to go into the chapel and start the service, another young priest arrived and had to hunt for vestments to wear. There was a distinct resemblance between the two of them. I wondered if they were perhaps brothers or cousins, in which case granny would have been very proud of them both. The service had started by the time we had  finished packing our kit away, signing the book, and so on as we slipped out the side door. The chapel was full, a hundred and fifty to two hundred people.

There was no social gathering after the service this week, which was a relief, as I'd been on my feet for two hours without sitting down. I didn't want to take the risk of struggling to get up and tottering during the service, and was fine on my feet. I didn't have any problems getting in and out of the car fortunately, by moving slowly and carefully. The injury isn't better yet, but I'm getting better at living with it.

I had a meal pre-cooked from yesterday to warm up when I got back, and in the spirit of Refreshment Sunday, opened a bottle of Rioja left for me when I arrived. Apart from at Communion, it was my first drink of wine, or any other alcohol this year. Needless to say, when I sat on the couch after the meal, relaxed and dozed off listening to the Early Music programme on Radio Three. I woke up just in time to listen to Choral Evensong. Then, suitably refreshed, I walked along the Paseo Maritime, to Torreblanca and back. 

In this stretch of beach there are two more brand new brightly painted cabins on raised platforms for life guards and first aiders. Each is placed in the vicinity of a cubic shaped structure topped with a platform. I suspect these are the remains of previous cabins whose wooden components were destroyed by winter weather or removed some time ago. 

The evening after supper slipped by with the slow upload of photos, a little writing and trying to follow a movie set in Turkey, dubbed into Spanish. Not exactly compelling viewing as it was mostly face to face dialogue with almost no other activity, but somehow I ended up going to be later than usual, perhaps because today wasn't quite as tiring, as previous days have been.