You have put your finger on it: the invisibility. For me, it was less so when I was in the village in 2015 when my father died in Australia . I had Masses said for him and wore mourning and gave bread to those closest to me, as is the custom around here. Yet when my mother died in Australia last year in August, the only thing I could cling to was that ot was the same priest, now in Faro, who said the Masses. At least *he* knew me. When I told a few neighbours, "My mother died yesterday", a couple of them actually did not hear it the first time. I made sure they heard it the second time, after telling me all their news. Momentary chagrin on their part, a frown, and muttered condolences was all. I was not looking for sympathy; I merely had to declare it so out loud. I was somewhat astounded at the initial lack of comprehension of some of my interlocutors, though.
Exactly, when your loved ones are not part of the local community, it's almost like they don't exist when they die. When my dad died last year, my (husband's) cousin asked for a mass to be dedicated to him, which was kind, and I put it on facebook. People were kind, but it wasn't the same thing. I don't think even my sisters in law phoned.
BTW, I've never heard or seen giving bread to those closest to us? Is that in a traditional village somewhere?
I checked with a friend at coffee this morning: she, and all those listening in to our conversation, concluded that this tradition of *pão do sétimo dia* must be localised and apply to Alfontes, Boliqueime and contiguous *aldeias*.
I had a lump in my throat reading this: the photo of my grandmother holding her infant great-grandson (who was named for her late husband, my beloved grandfather) has pride of place in our family gallery. Gran died a year later, and I couldn’t afford to fly back for her funeral.
You have put your finger on it: the invisibility. For me, it was less so when I was in the village in 2015 when my father died in Australia . I had Masses said for him and wore mourning and gave bread to those closest to me, as is the custom around here. Yet when my mother died in Australia last year in August, the only thing I could cling to was that ot was the same priest, now in Faro, who said the Masses. At least *he* knew me. When I told a few neighbours, "My mother died yesterday", a couple of them actually did not hear it the first time. I made sure they heard it the second time, after telling me all their news. Momentary chagrin on their part, a frown, and muttered condolences was all. I was not looking for sympathy; I merely had to declare it so out loud. I was somewhat astounded at the initial lack of comprehension of some of my interlocutors, though.
Exactly, when your loved ones are not part of the local community, it's almost like they don't exist when they die. When my dad died last year, my (husband's) cousin asked for a mass to be dedicated to him, which was kind, and I put it on facebook. People were kind, but it wasn't the same thing. I don't think even my sisters in law phoned.
BTW, I've never heard or seen giving bread to those closest to us? Is that in a traditional village somewhere?
I checked with a friend at coffee this morning: she, and all those listening in to our conversation, concluded that this tradition of *pão do sétimo dia* must be localised and apply to Alfontes, Boliqueime and contiguous *aldeias*.
That makes sense. It sounds like a way of giving the death a visible place in the community.
I had a lump in my throat reading this: the photo of my grandmother holding her infant great-grandson (who was named for her late husband, my beloved grandfather) has pride of place in our family gallery. Gran died a year later, and I couldn’t afford to fly back for her funeral.
Oh, I'm so sorry. I know exactly how it feels. It's a price we pay for being expats.
Sim, exatamente. 🫶🏻
Beautifully written. Brought tears to my eyes. Thank you xx