Our daily lives would be much better if we chose to use these words, in our conversations, rather than others. In this graveyard were buried people of all nationalities, both men and women of different religions. They were buried together and it seemed that this caused no animosity, even though they were “neighbours”. It was as if this was the only place where enmity did not exist. Sad times …
The well used adjective “fair”, “fair person”, describes a straight and honest person who is able to judge objectively; that makes for justice. Can we, people living in these times, still be “fair” in life not just when death leaves us all? Can any of us forget that in the course of our lives we also have to experience the moments of love, tolerance, affection for the loved ones? Is it possible to forget the quintessence of life? With this sorrow in our soul, we, the villagers, gathered at the door of the church where, with humbleness and devoutness, of heart longed to listen to the holy service, at least when they had the chance, at each two weeks.
The opening sermon, which had already begun, reached everyone’s heart. The lay ones, as if they were being solitary with “the unfaithful Thomas”, were annoyed with the upheaval of their live, that was left by God as witness to the resurrection of Jesus in front; the fact that Thomas manifested his doubt, mistrust for the things that cannot be defined through those fifth senses we are endowed by God. He was destined for an execrable death, in India, being hanged upside down.
All this was told by the priest who preached with closed eyes, probably imagining the things that took place nearly two thousand years ago. When he opened his eyes, he would turn his head in such a way that you would believe he photographed his parishioners. The service was completed in answers given by four lay preachers whose powerful voices, as a whole choir, gave a feeling of fulfillment. The special service was accomplished with great feeling by this retiring priest. We could see that the priest knew his congregation, in their numbers and faith but also observing “strangers” through at his service, especially those who came for the funeral of a young mother recently deceased. Taking advantage of this opportunity, the priest was overcome himself with the joy of the whole congregation. After the prayers raised to the Almighty for the souls of the dead, the Priest stood at her tomb to pray “Our Father” while the close family gathered around him. We then retired from the small graveyard, where as in all cemeteries one tomb was dominant. The name from the cross reminds me of “them”.

The dead ones not long ago considered “someone” in this area. Now, people from the village, not only do they pass by the tomb of this family, but none says a word to the ones from this family still living. They don’t see them, as if they do not even exist. Finally, there was someone who eventually said hello to them. As if he glimpsed my perplexity, a villager tapped me on the shoulder, telling me:
-They are cousins, sir … and left, to go to his work.
Gleaning from a villager and from the encounter with the “country side”, with the village, gave me a special feeling which became more and more evident growing in my behaviour having the power to erase from my mind and from my soul all the stress accumulated in a week of work. I felt like I was at home, as if I was near the ones I love, protected and needed, just as in a family reunion after a long time apart. Leaving the graveyard and reassembling, each with their own group, you could hear remarks about the special service, given by the old priest.
Our host for that day, “Buia Toma”, then commented on the occasion:
-As a constant beneficiary of this priest’s honored service not only to our village but also to those other villages in the area, I can say he is swely our worthy apostle. The problem did occur which is discouraging, because my father, one of the founders of this church, and other parents contributed to the church’s construction. They had not considered that the building of a church needed to be an appropriate size for the small number of people in the village. They dared to build our church in size as big and magnificent as the churches from the border villages. Their ambition was much too high for the smallest village around. Although, you may see that the church was completed the priest, until now, was not able to see his church full of Christians. Maybe, this could be the reasons why today he was able to preach in such a special way. For him, this day became also an event. For the first time, he admired the congregation he had desired for a lifetime. You could feel that even he could not believe this thing could happen, which would explain why his eyes were closed during the whole service. Possibly for him it was still a dream, and he was afraid to wake up… from the dream and the wish of his life. “Buia Toma” “caught me” looking closely at the tombs in the graveyard. “Did you know somebody from here?”

– Believe me, I recalled my own, the ones who “brought me into this world” and caused me some soul searching. I haven’t looked for something in particular, reading the notes from the crosses, but being here for the second time, why I still know some of them vivialy.
-You said second time, that means that the first time you were here was at the burial of my daughter. As far as you have seen, like in all graveyards, you can find in here tombs that are being taken care of, few are looking better, according the “descends” money, but most of the time according “the short memory” of the close ones, that got rid off some worry after they “put in dirt” their parents. According all this, what we still remember is that the most beautiful burial, if the term is not too improper for this kind of pain, was not of those who had high positions, power and fortunes. At the burial of those with crypt, is easy to understand that people came only because of the “obligations” they had towards those families, and few villagers spent their time remembering them, those who even after death built real residences. The main thing is that all this is in vane. Stones have never taken place and will never take the place of love. So, I don’t want to bother you to much with this, I just want to tell you that the burial of my daughter was as far as I know on the second place as far as we know from around here. But the most beautiful and painful burial was of a driver. It happened in a winter. I believe that day was the coldest in that time. The snow crunched as if it was one with the convoy. All hamlet’s man kind was behind the coffin, mourning alongside his family and coworkers. Those twenty cars that followed the convoy were endlessly honking and through this multitude of sounds, it seemed that the honk of his car was breaking through the lamentable sadness above all the other sounds, after that young man. A man as big as a fir, and the same soul, who in everyplace he has been through made himself noticed, conspicuous, gathered away, appreciated and even loved. None, from here or from somewhere else, mentioned having any kind of troubles and he wouldn’t give the help needed, he would have helped and supported you, in any way he could. And what large shoulders he used to have… He was the kind of man from the world and made for the world. He was good at everything; nothing was strange enough for him … from what was human. Well … this man had fallen down as if he was stricken by lightning.