The First Communion

The taxi had finally arrived. The driver watched Eulália Dias as she descended from her front porch one heavy step at a time. He got out of the cab to open the back door for her, smiled an apology for being late, and asked where she was headed.

“I go to St. Helen’s Church on Dundas, you know where it is? But I need to sit in the front seat because of my legs. Please, you have to hurry. I’m going to be late for my granddaughter’s First Communion.”

Read the full short story at Cleaver.

Read review by Susan Riggs


About thetorzorean

The musings of a torontonian azorean on identity and belonging. You can find me at
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2 Responses to The First Communion

  1. Carol Wells says:

    My Dear Emanuel,
    I am so sad at this story of the first communion and the Grandmother’s difficulty in getting to the church and in being looked after by the family. Really, it is shocking to me. I was responsible for looking after my Mother at many family events and my husband and I, as well as her grandchildren would never let this happen. We always arranged for our Mother/Grandmother to be taken care of, to be driven to and from family events and to be included in celebratory meals and festivities. Where is this family’s sense of love for their mother? Where is their understanding of her mobility issues? Where is their sense of compassion? God help them when life brings them old age and vulnerability. What then for them?
    Much love,


  2. Marcia Campbell says:

    Beautiful story, Emanuel! I really could appreciate the grandmother’s feeling of abandonment…made me sad…but she, along with everyone else,. is never alone. Her faith keeps her going and her love for Jesus is evident. I have learnt that first hand!

    Love you! Marcia

    Sent from Mail for Windows 10


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