Adieu

Huw Williams | 22:32, Thursday 13 June 2013 | Turin, Italy

And now it is evening. I am standing on our balcony at dusk, as the church bell rings out nine o'clock. And as I stand here, sipping a cold Coke, I am aware of others in the building opposite, all alone, all standing on their balconies, and probably similarly reflecting and glad of the evening's coolness. It's a slightly awkward moment when we make eye-contact, shouldn't I wave or something? It seems strange not to acknowledge this unusual camaraderie. Up and to the left a young woman taps on her phone. Below and to the left a gentleman downs an espresso in one gulp. The man directly opposite is smoking a cigarette and the light is now fading enough for the tip of it to burn like a beacon across the void between our buildings.

I am reflecting on another farewell, and come here fresh from the closing of the front door. We are in a season of goodbyes. Yesterday at the playground, crowds of schoolchildren, in the end of year ritual – and all looking like drowned rats – threw gallons of water over each other in the heat of the afternoon. School was most definitely out. Last Sunday we said goodbyes to members of our congregation. This evening we said some more over a meal. And there is at least one more goodbye this Sunday, too.

It is one of the hardest things in this work. People are passing through. They arrive, settle, develop friendships and then it's time to move again. And then the messages come in again about new arrivals coming to Torino in the next month or two. This is exciting, you never quite know who might turn up next Sunday. But for now, we have these little melancholy moments of farewell, and maybe that’s OK. Perhaps that as it should be.