A moving day in the Malvinas: from the bustle to the long-awaited meeting, after 37 years of absence

I see the crosses. White, symmetrical The one next to the other. At the foot, a stonemason of small stones of malvine. And separated the rows by grbad beds. The crosses usually have a rosary. Or more than one, of different colors, ennroscados where the vertical stick meets the horizontal one. They make clicks when they are moved by the wind: click, click, click …

I see plastic flowers that have left the visitors. An imprint of the Luján virgin, part of Christ, the one where the heart comes out of the chest. But the crosses they are not all the same. 110 have at the base a granite plaque with the name and surname of the soldier who rests in this cemetery for 37 years.

There are some crosses left, yes, they are all visible: they are the ones who still carry the common plate where is read the moving secret: "An Argentine soldier known only to God". Returning to Darwin is overwhelming, it is impossible not to be moved. Because in 2015, when I spent a whole week at the Malvinas, I spent an unpleasant morning under a leaden and stormy sky. The icy wind came in bursts and all the external data I received accentuated the sadness of the environment. The cemetery looked like a small Argentine citadel. Alone, something very small in the immensity of these treeless hills that surround it.

Many mothers and sisters did not have gray hair or wrinkles when they saw them dressed as green soldiers when they heard their warm voice for the last time.

Most tombs bore this legend. And I went on to think what immense distress of parents that from time to time they came in search of the most beloved beings who had lost in the war and could not even leave a flower in place of their eternal rest.

But this trip will be unforgettable for me and for all those who took place in the rental plane, which had aboard 65 family members of the 22 new graves identified. The scenes there, in this perimeter formed by the cenotaph where a cross is raised in the center and closed on the sides by a white fence, demolition.

I see a woman embraced by the cross: she pours a sea of ​​tears and does not want to let go, she does not want to leave here. I see two sisters fighting to death in life for these familiar things and now like a miracle, they hug and caress the plate which indicates with first and last name that their father rests there. That is to say, he accomplished the miracle of bringing them together, while they had to get their DNA.

I see the trumpet player with his instrument. He will call for silence in a moment, after the end of the lamentations of the Scottish bagpipe players, in full ceremony of homage. They say that a picture is worth a thousand words. And sometimes it can be true. Because the 65 parents who came, I say to myself, are (while I watch them at a safe distance) expressions of a very personal grief and no one knows how they feel when they find the name and family name they were looking for in these black granite slabs.

I think of certain expressions that I picked before boarding Ezeiza or during the flight in which no one was sleeping (neither the journalists nor the relatives) and who spoke more or less like that, describing the feelings that flowed: pain, distance, absence, peace, memories, reunion, anguish, anger, love, justice, miracle, therapy, catharsis, silence, prayers, magic, healing, relief, emotion …

Returning to Darwin is overwhelming, it is impossible not to be moved.

Although I do not listen to them, I find that they dialogue with the graves of the 22 soldiers identified by their names and first names. I tend to believe that the men and women I see are trying to tell a long film: many – many mothers and sisters above all – did not have gray hair, no wrinkles on their face, maybe, when they saw them dressed as green soldiers, when they heard their warm voice for the last time.

I see them 20 meters from this white perimeter fence and neither the cold that bites, nor the wind that blows in frozen bursts it can destroy that micro-world of heat that connects the grave for the first time to those men and women who are pulling the veil of absence for the first time.

Darwin is 40 kilometers from the Mount Pleasant Airport. Soldiers resting there have been declared national heroes by Argentina in 1998. Darwin is also the national historic site of Argentina. 230 Argentines are found in individual graves. Seven others are in two mbad graves. One is occupied by the four crew members of one helicopter and another, by the three of a Lear Jet, civil aircraft used during the war as an element of distraction. This trip is similar to that of last year, when about 200 parents came to honor the 90 soldiers whose remains were recognized.

The trumpeter is called Omar Tabares and he is a retired NCO. His is a mini emotional story Falklands. In charge of touching the Diana of glory in front of the troops, he is taken prisoner in 1982 and an English soldier keeps his trumpet, his working instrument.

Malvinas continues to move me and continues to push me with his questions. And that fills me with perplexities.

In 2010, the miracle happened. The same English soldier called him and delivered the trumpet. And now, in Darwin, excite everyone play the silence to honor their dead comrades. This was possible thanks to an agreement signed between Argentina and Great Britain. A mission carried out by the International Red Cross.

They worked at the scientific police to identify the bodies. Family members provided DNA samples. The remains, after identification, were buried in a good coffin until the moment of identification, they remained buried in funeral bags.

L & # 39; s arrival

Here are the parents walking slowly on the gravel path. I wonder: What will they think now that they are approaching the expected reunion? They had 37 years of absence, suffering, secret and frustrated expectations. Since we do not know the names … to which grave should I bring the flowers? My cry? My confessions? All the love that I saved?

This is how we saw it during the first visits to the family: wandering between the crosses, not knowing what to do, which graves to talk about, in which crosses download the feelings of & # 39; A mother whom they brought from the mainland. In the end, they ended up choosing a cross among all: but it was a homage without enthusiasm. Now, they arrive with certainty. They will finally materialize the meeting … And there are only 10 of these plates that say that only God knows it.

Maybe I'll go back to the Malvinas once everyone is identified, when everyone in the family can bring flowers and rosaries to the graves of their loved ones. When they can take a little warm, hot in these cold latitudes. And when they can feel this relief and the Christian resignation that comes late because maybe the Argentineans did not know how to do things well so that this – this simple humanitarian agreement between adversaries – would have arrived in time for many mothers and fathers who left this world without being able to live this moment.

Malvinas continues to move me and continues to push me with his questions. And that fills me with perplexities. I believe that something new is being born among the new generations. Too many soldiers suffered at the time "Ninguneados", hidden, invisible, treated like crazy. A petty, ungenerous and underhanded way of charging them with a responsibility that they did not have. They are heroes, our heroes. And it's time to pay our permanent homage.