Moving invocation to the Virgin at the funeral for Adamuz
Text of the beautiful, heartfelt, and emotional intervention by the daughter of one of the deceased at the funeral:
«Your Majesties, most excellent civil and ecclesiastical authorities who accompany us. Today, when the storm raging inside us seems to be trying to calm down, we want to begin these words by giving thanks.
First of all, thanks to our Diocese for this funeral, the only funeral that fit in this farewell, because the only presence we want by our side is that of the God who today has made himself present here in the bread and wine under the gaze of his mother, in her Cinta devotion. Huelva is a Marian land, Andalusia is a believing people, and it is by embracing his cross that we find the greatest consolation. Thanks to those who accompany us out of love, compassion, empathy… Thanks, even, to those who do it out of schedule.
Thanks to the people of Adamuz, that small corner we will never forget and that will never forget, as well as to the Cordoban city, to those we feel and will feel united forever… without thinking about the consequences, they did not hesitate to immerse themselves in the chaos of twisted iron, blood, pain, and tears. They accompanied our wounded until they were sure they were safe and then accompanied us in our lament. They put at our disposal the sustenance and shelter of those bitter days, but above all, they put all their affection, dedication, and desire to make that hard moment hurt a little less.
Thanks to the security and emergency services that responded promptly, as always, to the call… they did what they could with the information and means available… thanks for your empathy, closeness, and affection in the following days.
Thanks to Andalusian healthcare, undoubtedly sustained by the professionals who make it up. I know what it is to come home from a bad shift and hug your children because you know that someone will never be able to do it again with theirs. I know what it is to try to heal the body of someone whose soul is mortally wounded… it must have been incredibly tough, colleagues, thank you. Thanks to the staff and volunteers of the Red Cross, who have not let go of our hand at any moment… if you can’t heal, alleviate… if you can’t alleviate, console… if you can’t console, accompany.
Thanks to our regional institutions, which stood firm from minute zero, bearing the chaos and the onslaughts of our own anguish… allow me, however, a criticism of the slowness of the information because, believe me, it is better to know than to imagine. Thanks also, of course, to the small local corporations whose neighbors rushed to spread the word that something serious was shaking the foundations of the community, feeling our grief as their own… dear Pilar, dear mayors… you have shown that one must be great as a person to be great as a public servant.
«Infinite thanks to Huelva»
And thanks, infinite thanks to Huelva, our beloved city blessed by the sun, which has not stopped sheltering us in an extraordinary way, making us feel the greatness of its love and its own pain, trying to make ours a little less heartbreaking. And so the days have passed and the pain is giving way to memories and our heart, still with the same sword pierced, begins to sketch small and timid smiles when a thousand past images continually burst into our minds.
I must have been a little younger when one day I asked my mother… ‘mommy, how much money do you earn?’… I suppose it was something we talked about among kids… ‘just enough, darling’ -she told me- ‘because what remains in my account at the end of the month is not mine’… ‘and whose is it, mom?’, I asked because I didn’t understand… ‘of others’, she told me. That was my mother… generous with everything she had, generous with her willingness, generous with her time, generous with her smiles… that was her.
And what we lost that fateful Sunday, January 18, was not just a number… they were wagons full of virtues and flaws, wagons full of triumphs and defeats, wagons full of longings and silences… wagons full of hope. Because they are not only the 45 from the train… they were our fathers, mothers, brothers, sons or grandsons. They are not only the 45 from the train… they were the joy of our awakenings and the refuge of our sorrows. They are not only the 45 from the train… they were the illusion of seeking a better future, the joy of enjoying family moments or the desire to return to our loved ones… they were that which they will never be again. Because they are not only the 45 from the train, they were part of a society so polarized that it began to crack a long time ago and we are not realizing it. They are not only the 45 from the train… but they are the 45 from the train.
And we… we are the 45 families whose clocks stopped at 7:45 that fateful afternoon. We are the 45 families who hugged each other in that civic center, where the passage of time was flooding with silence and the silence was giving way to tears when we began to understand in the slow advance of the hours that we would return without them. We are the 45 families who have learned with too much cruelty that the call that is not made remains unmade and the kiss that we do not give is the one we remember the most. We are the 45 families who would trade all the gold in this world, which now means nothing, for being able to move the hands of the clock just 20 seconds. And we are also the 45 families who will fight to know the truth because only the truth will help us heal this wound that will never close. We will know the truth, we will fight so that there is never another train, but we will do it from serenity, from relief, from the peace of knowing that in the arms of the Virgin they now sleep and the lap of a mother who loves them is who rocks them.
We are the 45 families who will fight to know the truth because only the truth will help us heal this wound that will never close
Little Virgin of the Cinta, patroness of this great town, give them peace, serenity, eternal rest. Beautiful Virgin, pretty Virgin, do not let go of them from your side, let them not feel the pain, let them not feel the misery. May love and truth shelter them forever and in the embrace of God life conquer death. Mother of the Almudena, Virgin who guides the way, take them the silent kiss, that goodbye we did not give them. Remedies, beloved mother, queen of the Aljaraqueño, offer them your firm hands so that they never fear again. Mother of beautiful love, queen of Victory, Sorrows of black mourning, grant them your glory. And guide our lives too, humble Virgin of the Sun, and may mercy abound in our hearts. Make this pain cease, dark-skinned Virgin of Carmen, take away this cruel sword with the foam of the seas.
And you, Virgin of the Rocío, the one who illuminates my sleepless nights, the one who always accompanies me when I break inside, embrace their hearts and take them a sigh with a song of love for the years shared. Tell them that we have peace and that we will be brave, that hatred will not be born in the rage that grows in us. That smiles will return and we will continue living and this love will not die, it will live on in their memories. Tell them you, White Dove, Shepherdess of the Rocina, that we will always feel them with the sun or with the breeze, and that with faith we will wait for that moment when God embraces us and thus we see each other again. Rest in peace.»
And everyone was crying