Thursday, January 14, 2010

FATIMA, Summer 2001


Those places we have visited along the way and what moments we have lived are what makes us who we are at present. We can choose to relive the difficult moments and have a heavy load to carry, or we can choose to relive those moments which have been helpful and, perhaps, lessen the load a bit. I choose to do the latter.

It was my intent to continue to write about the PR years, and I will do so presently. However, last night I received a message through FB from a dear friend who lives in Spain and said message was to let us know that over the weekend, she and her husband had visited the grotto at Fatima in Portugal and had lit a candle on our behalf.

This was a very nice gesture, to remember us in this manner, since her own husband has undergone serious CA treatment this past year. However, that is in the past, and so are the post card memories this note brought to me.

Summer 2001. How Do I know it was this summer and no other? I had to go on to Germany after having been in Portugal for almost 4 months, and my arrival in Germany happened to be on 9/11/2001. This is how I know this one; many other dates sometimes get confused since my time was spent all over Europe from 1999 through 2004, in the course of the pursuit of business which -some day- I will put on paper.

I had gone to Lisbon on behalf of another party, trying to tie loose ends together so that a transaction being pursued for some time, would actually come to pass (it didn’t…). In any event, Nuno had picked me up at the airport and taken me to a Days Inn somewhere near the center of town. Lisbon is one of the capitals of Western Europe which has not lost its old flavor trying to pursue modernization. I am not sure this is due to a defined course of action or, simply, to the fact that this beautiful and simple country suffered from a fairly strong and long dictatorship, longer even that its neighbor Spain. Whatever the cause, at that time it was still an old flavor city; quiet, pretty and safe to get around in, as long as one did not get to the lower parts.

We had been waiting (I did a lot of this in many countries back then – still do, but at home now) for a number of people and issues to get cleared and I did a lot of walking and metro tourism during this time. Whatever business I had to do could be done over the phone, and this little appendage was always at my side wherever I was. So, I was free to roam; very frugally, since my working capital was extremely short. I had already spent time at the world fair site (one of the more modern areas in Lisbon) and about which there will be an entry sometime in the future, I’m sure. I knew the different areas around the hotel, and where the cyber-cafĂ© was at the mall. I was there almost every morning, in order to communicate with the rest of the world, especially my family.

Nuno and I maintained our communication open, and he would come to pick me up once in a while so I would accompany him, especially if he had to meet someone who spoke English. Believe me when I tell you that a protracted waiting game can be extremely frustrating; there were days when there were absolutely no news regarding our issues, and there was no way to get them. We did as best as we could.

-“Rafa – I’m down at the lobby” he said to me over the house phone.

–“What do you have in mind?” I replied.

-“I think I have a special treat for you today; come down, I will be at the car by the front entrance”.

He drove a small car –as most Europeans do- and for my 6’2” frame it was at times uncomfortable (and still is) to be in one of these for a long time, especially over winding roads. However, the prospect of the small car versus the boredom of yet one more day walking the streets of Lisbon (in the summertime these are particularly deserted) finally won out, and I went down to the car. When I asked him about our trip, he would just smile and say -“you’ll like what you will see this morning”… nothing more.

As we went out of Lisbon, we started talking about the school we attended as children and it turned out we both were a product of the Champagnat Schools (Marists). I think he knew I was, I did not know he was. Those who may know these schools, will know they are Marian Schools, dedicated to the Virgin Mother. What does this have to do with this postcard? A lot. As we talked, he drove and told me that he just wanted the company for the drive, since he had to meet a couple of business people; we would have lunch and then I would have some 2 hours on my own, while he concluded his business. We finally arrived at our destination, a small way town which we bypassed in order to get to the country restaurant where we would be meeting the other people. We had lunch, and then he said to me:

-“See across the road, over there?” He pointed to a large church at the far end of a huge plaza and what seemed to be a small chapel like building next to it.

-“Yes, I see it” – “What is it?”

-“That, my friend, is the Grotto of Fatima, where the Mother Virgin appeared to the little children”

I just stared across this wide road and truly felt like being a child again, when we would sing all the Marian songs we learned in school, and would look at the image of the Mother Virgin and feel peace and quiet.

I walked across this expanse and made it to the church, where I paid my respects. However, my heart was truly skipping when I went to the Grotto, where a mass was being said at this precise moment. If my eyes are closed now, what I then felt will come back to me in its full measure. It was like coming home again. All I could think of saying was -“Mother, I knew and loved you as a child, and here I am now an adult”. Then I knew her again. A feeling of peace and content came over me as had not come for a long, too long, a time.

It was a short time spent there but in a way, it was a lifetime. Many years had passed since I had sung those songs at school; many years had passed since I had given myself an opportunity to loose myself in the arms of her spiritual love, as happened at that moment.

Nuno was absolutely right; this was a very special treat and it made me very happy indeed. In fact, he presence has stayed with me since and I hope that it always stays. I had to go on to Germany later on, then back to Portugal until I came back to the States. The chance at a second visit has not presented itself, but I hope it will. In the meantime, that special day, that treat and that beautiful feeling of peace and content is with me.

Post Card from Fatima; Summer 2001

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