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MARÍA MASSÓ LOSA

Before we begin, on behalf of my aunt and our entire family, I want to express our deepest gratitude for your presence. Today, the pain of farewell is great, but so too is the comfort of knowing we are surrounded by so much love.

In the Gospel of John 14:1-12, Jesus says to his disciples:

“Do not let your hearts be troubled. You believe in God; believe also in me. In my Father’s house, there are many rooms. If it were not so, I would have told you. I am going there to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am. You know the way to the place where I am going.”

Trusting in the promise of this divine place, I dare to imagine that in that merciful refuge Jesus has prepared, one of those rooms shines with my aunt’s name, as a testament to her faith and the light she sowed in this world.

María Massó Losa was, over the years, a constant reference, a quiet and steadfast presence that rose—without fanfare—like a vital support when life, with its capricious and inscrutable turns, deprived me of my mother’s embrace. In the midst of the void, it was she who knew how to fill the silence with tenderness, turning the loss into a love as deep as it was unshakable. Her figure not only occupied a space; it redefined it.

Today, her light fades here to begin shining in another place. And it fills me with sadness. Not only because she is no longer here, but because I still do not know how to live in a world without her. How to breathe when that heart, which beat for me, often before it beat for herself, is no longer there. How to walk without that voice calling me, without that gesture that calms me, without that unique way of being that was always hers. Because when someone who was love—real love, unconditional love—leaves, what we feel is not only sadness: it is orphanhood.

And yes, today I feel a little orphaned because she is no longer here, the one who, without being a mother, offered me her care and protection with a devotion as deep, selfless, pure, and dedicated as the most noble and exemplary of mothers.

Because I will never again hear her voice pronouncing my name with that tone only she had, that mix of sweetness and firmness that made me feel valued, embraced, and filled with immeasurable love.

Today I wanted to gather you all here to say goodbye to her, to celebrate her life, to invoke her memory, to fill ourselves with her once more. To surround her with words, for that is all we have left when we can no longer embrace with our arms, but we can still embrace with our hearts.

Cuca—because that is what we, those who truly loved her, called her—was many things at once, and all of them, in their complexity and simplicity, revealed themselves to be equally genuine. An extraordinary human being, a woman with a colossal soul, whose traces will not be erased by time but will instead become deeper and more beloved. Hers was an existence woven with patience and sweetness, with every gesture, every glance, every word, as if each day were a page of a book that deserved to be written with love.

She was born in Villarrobledo (Albacete) on April 4th, the same month the flowers open to the sun, unaware that many years later, love, goodness, and generosity would bloom within her as well. There, in her homeland, she first saw the light, filling my grandparents’ house with joy as they looked at her with eyes full of dreams. She was the first of three siblings. She was a guide, a support, an example of strength and tenderness in equal measure.

Over the years, her life was built in the stillness of the ordinary, but also in the depth of the extraordinary.

April 4th would have been a very special date. She would have turned 96. An age that symbolizes the miracle of life itself. This year, more than ever, it seemed she had the hope of celebrating. The approach of her birthday filled her with a special glow, a calm hope reflected on her face. Perhaps it was intuition, that wordless knowledge that sometimes settles in the body before the mind. Maybe, deep inside, she already sensed the end of her journey. Or perhaps she just wanted, as never before, to gift herself a moment of light, of silent clamor, as if the glow of a lit candle could fill her final days with hope.

However, on the morning of March 30th, as the first light of dawn began to touch the horizon, time stopped. That day, like so many others, life said goodbye to her in silence, like a whisper, like a caress that knows it has fulfilled its purpose. It was not a harsh or loud goodbye. It was more like a subtle “until we meet again,” almost imperceptible, following an existence so full and deeply lived that it required no more. She, who understood the true meaning of life, knew that love is not measured by time, but by intensity. And she loved with all the intensity possible.

There were countless lessons she gave me throughout her life. But this last one, letting go of the final thread of this world with the same sweetness with which a mother tucks in her child and turns off the light without making a sound, was, in itself, also a lesson. The last one, perhaps, but not for that reason less significant. The hardest to learn, yet the most beautiful.

She left with the same gentleness with which she had so often comforted me, with the same tenderness with which she had embraced me when I needed her most. Only a different stillness, a lighter air, a subtle absence that for a moment made me think she might just be asleep, her eyes closed just a little longer than usual. And maybe that’s what happened. Perhaps she only closed her eyes for a moment and began that journey from which there is no return, without looking back, because she knew—Cuca, you always knew—that love does not say goodbye, that true love knows no endings. No time. No distance.

It was at the end of her days, when her words slipped between the sighs of a tired body, that she told me, with a fragility I had never known in her, that she only had me now. Now, that she is no longer here with me, each time I remember her, it comforts me to know that I was always by her side. That I was everything she needed, just as she was for me so many times without saying it. And even though it is now she who is missing, I want her to know, wherever she is, that I also have her. In every corner of my life. Forever.

Today, as we gather here to say goodbye, our hearts ache, but they are also filled with gratitude, because having her in our lives was a gift—an immeasurable gift. And although the pain of her absence mixes with the tears we don’t want to shed, we know she is still here, present in everything she left us: in the way she loved, in her infinite tenderness, in her boundless generosity.

In every family, there are aspects that define them in a unique way. And it is precisely that uniqueness, that imperfect blend, that gives each family its distinctive, inimitable character. The extraordinary is not in the absence of disagreements, but in the love that remains steadfast despite them. In the embrace that follows the silence. In the laughter that survives the darkest days. In the bonds that, though tense at times, never truly break.

Ours, like so many others, has also walked its own path of light and shadow, of laughter and silence, of hugs and goodbyes, of joy and pain. But what has been our constant, our truth, is the firmness with which she always supported us. Her strength, her vitality, her inexhaustible energy, her way of facing life with eyes wide open and a heart on fire.

She was the root and the flame. The silent engine that pushed everything forward. The voice that advised, the hand that held. The heartbeat that vibrated for each of us. And she did it without ostentation, without needing us to recognize it, as if loving were the most natural thing in the world for her.

She was not someone who lived for herself. She lived for her loved ones. For those she loved. For those who were here and also for those who would come. And she didn’t need grand gestures to leave a mark: the small acts, repeated throughout a life, were enough.

She endured, not with hardness, but with tenderness. She rose after every fall, not to show strength, but because she understood that her strength was a necessary refuge for those who depended on her. And she did so without vanity, without pretense, with the deep simplicity of someone who didn’t need applause to know they had done the right thing.

Professionally, her life reflected admirable versatility and an unwavering work ethic forged in the strictest rigor.

I remember her, with that firm and determined gaze, facing complex decisions without ever losing her humanity, building a project with her own hands, creating, step by step, with vision, with courage, with that mix of intelligence and perseverance that only great heroines possess.

Her attentive gaze at the future led her to venture into a complex, demanding, and strictly regulated environment. It was there that, with cunning and perseverance, she transformed a modest idea into a tangible reality, leaving behind a business legacy built over more than four decades of exemplary leadership, hard work, and professional success achieved brilliantly.

She leaves us an extensive legacy. Not of wealth or great deeds, but of something much more valuable: she leaves us the living lesson of what it truly means to live.

Today, before the eyes that still seek you and under the sky that now envelops you, I come to thank you. I hope you fulfill your promise and listen to me. Because these words are for you, as I told you they would be, the day this goodbye arrived that I never wanted to say.

Thank you, Cuca, for those hands that, like invisible wings, guided and protected me every step of the way, for every sacrifice you never mentioned, for every renunciation you made in silence, asking nothing in return. For those silences full of love, for that constant dedication that, in your humility, were acts of greatness.

Thank you for showing me with your example what strength is, for teaching me that courage is not always measured in victories, but in the ability to keep moving forward despite the falls, for teaching me that true love has no conditions, that it gives without expecting, that it is renewed with every sacrifice and knows no discouragement.

Thank you for the silences full of understanding that said more than any phrase, for having listened to me, even without words. For having understood what my heart couldn’t express. Thank you for loving me in my imperfections, for accepting me, for not judging me, for giving me the space to be who I am.

Thank you for the times you taught me to walk, not just with your hands, but with your example. For teaching me that the greatest knowledge is not in books, but in the heart, in the experiences we share, in the love we give and receive without reservations.

Thank you for every smile that lit up the darkest days, for making me feel that nothing was more important than my happiness, for making me feel valuable, loved, for every gesture that told me that no matter what the world brought me, I would always have a place to return to. Thank you for that great love that started long before I could understand it.

There is no absence when the heart remembers, nor farewell when love knows no end. I will continue to imagine you asleep, serene, at peace, until my dreams blend with reality and I can hold you again in them.

May your light, Cuca, shine forever in eternity, as brightly as it did in our lives.

Francisco Massó Mora | Religious Ceremony. Funeral Liturgy.

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