The last three days of my life were spent in mourning. Mourning for a young soul I never met, but in mourning nonetheless. The phone rang early Monday morning to inform us that my boyfriend’s nephew had passed away. He had been living in Costa Rica for the last several years, so I never had an opportunity to meet him.
Families are sprawling in Nicaragua. I’m sure this is partially thanks to the Catholic church’s strong influence on the country. Thus, as we set off early Monday morning for the home of the grieving mother, I was under-prepared for the scene in store. At first, there were just a few people gathered outside under the shade of a tree, silently sitting while mom and abuela wept. Throughout the day the crowd grew. Neighbors came toting their own chairs, as the family didn’t have enough to seat all of the supporters. Coffee was made in small Styrofoam cups and passed around. Then pan, white bread served on plastic platters carried around by nieces and neighbors to keep all the mourners comfortable. The story of what happened was repeated time and again by momma.