Julia (13) 2.4.13


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Day 2

The wind as in confirmation of your presence yesterday, was silent this morning and I drew comfort from this illogical belief, letting the sun give my skin longed for warmth and vitamin D.

The festival is loud, colourful and peppered with drinking young people, who, freed from the cultural expectation that drinking is not encouraged in this city and its streets, do so with abandonment for this one day.

The sirens of ambulances; the roads being littered with the detritus  of the festival, and the street cleaners are all embraced as  part of  paying welcome to the spring.

We re-visit your beloved Aunt lali who at 85 still has the mannerisms that  I so remember in you.


This catches me unaware and I am awash momentarily with shock and grief at your absence.

Her love of you as a daughter, friend and co conspirator is evident and through her own restrained tears she shows us where you slept; where you accidentally locked yourself out on her balcony whilst having a cigarette and for two hours was shouting for help and assistance.

With unspoken words her face and eyes tell that she knew how ill you would become and that it was to be her last time with you.

It was she that you spoke with 20 minutes before you became unconscious, saying,    “Si, Si, Adios; Adios”.

The recollection now of that moment doesn’t grasp at my very being is it did then, but it lays heavy in my throat and chest.

You travel with us in every street we walk, each meal we eat, and each place we visit in this home town of your family, for you are pointed out in shared memories, toasted in every drink we raise our glass to, and in photographs handed to see.

In darkness at this end of day with feet raised to ease their tiredness, over Rioja, Tapas and companionable conversation, the loss of your friendship is achingly painful.  The sun had gone down over the mountain range as we talked and sang and now through the tears we share the weight of your death and laugh too at your resurrected existence here.

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