- July 10, 2020
- Posted by: Villa Caritas
- Category: Blog En
This Sunday I woke up, checked my cell phone and came across a news story that left me frozen for a while. Gradually, I could start thinking and feeling something. I remembered you, our last conversation a few weeks ago (you felt so good!), your family, your husband, your many friends and our school. I repaired, suddenly, in the difficult situation we have been going through and how difficult everything would be now and, as I did every time a big problem presented, I was automatically born to call you or write to you to ask for an emergency office and to be able to say, "Xime, how?, take care of me when you can, please, we are in big trouble: you are gone".
Immediately, perhaps out of habit, the same serene response you so often gave me was born inside and with your voice: "Ok, but calmly, with peace of mind." That phrase, which came to me as a pleasant memory, clearly expresses that attitude that I have seen grow in you since you began to fight your illness. It might seem "uncomplicated, " but I'd call it "wise." Yes. Your pain was increasingly anchoring you in the truly importantness of our lives, in what is not passed, in the essential thing that we so often forget. After all, what's important, you seemed to invite to think with your words.
I noticed that attitude clearly, for example, when I exposed a problem in my area that overwhelmed me and, after listening to me, you gave me a very remote answer from the practical guidelines I expected: "Ok, but don't take away your peace." I also saw it when at the 2019 Open House you boldly decided not to talk to dads about shopping, construction, diplomas or school travel, but about our human fragility. You showed us a broken ceramic whose fractures had been repaired with gold resin, according to the Japanese Kintsugi technique, to teach us that we can shine through our wounds, fractures, failures and weaknesses. Then you ordered that pottery to be put in the front desk so everyone can see it and reflect. Xime, as of today you are that exposed pottery that teaches the whole community. Your way of coping with your fragility and continuing to serve until the last day of your life with love and joy now allows you to shine before all through this experienced rupture and leave us forever a golden testimony.
I remember, too, that on a holiday you called me to go to school. The meeting was work, but you changed course and it ended up being our best conversation. I'll never forget her. You opened my heart like a friend. Sharing your process of accepting the disease told me that, after a natural period of incomprehension and rejection, you made a small altar in your room and alone before God did you accept what He had (and you trusted him to give you a certain number of years because you felt you still had many things to give). I'm sure God listened to your request, and although it wasn't as you asked, It allowed you to fulfill your deepest desire behind it: to be able to give everything to the end.
He has picked you up right on the eve of your feast: The Master's Day. From now on, that celebration will be inseparable from your memory for all. When it touches to commemorate the ideal of this beautiful and noble vocation, your image will appear among us as the exemplary teacher who passed between us teaching with her life and with her death.
Everyone says you'll leave a void between us, and it's true, but I also firmly believe that now your presence is transformed, growing, and will continue to do so. We used to be estranged. Now you are with God and it is enough to pray to communicate. We're closer! The dying seed bears much fruit, Jesus taught us, whose face you are contemplating. From Him you will see that the testimony of your life is a seed sown in our hearts and that the fruits will grow like a beautiful tree planted in the main garden of Villa Caritas, the one you looked through the windows of your office dreaming happily the best for all your students.
Caritas omnia vinc
it! So long, Director. Thank yo
u for your life, Master. He prays so much for us.
Your grateful co-worker.