"You can't die like this. It's not right," the petite woman with white hair and a rosary clutched in her hands repeats in a singsong voice.
All around is a blanket of tears and pain , with the sun not warming and the church of San Giorgio too small to make room for the anguish of a destroyed family and a community that mourns even without the proclamation of a day of mourning.
Half an hour before ten o'clock, a nonstop procession passes through the house of the Lord, where Sestu gathers to say goodbye to little Lorenzo , who died on Sunday at the age of four, suffocated , before the helpless eyes of his father Stefano Corona, mother Eleonora, and sister Aurora. They are there, in the front row, their eyes fixed on the white coffin lying at the foot of the altar, under the compassionate gaze of a Christ who cannot offer comfort. Not today, with the grief perhaps still too earthly to allow the consoling faith that the parish priest preaches to the many present.
There are also white balloons on the railing of the Collodi school , where an empty desk has been since Monday. The youngest students are dealing with a tragedy that no one can understand.