Just the Way You Did
It was the 19th and I was a day late for a visit. Maynard and I were discussing, as we walked to your new home, about death and how I wanted to be cremated. And he said to me, “Okay but will then bury your ashes in the ground.” I laughed.
I wondered why our culture still holds this practice. Why put a mark on the ground for the dead? The dead is here no more. Why spend so much money for a small piece of lot? Pay a caretaker to keep the plot green and weed-free? What good does it do?
These questions were gnawing in my mind as we finally reached your grave. A wave of sadness came over me as I put down the mums over your gravestone. I tried to light the candles but the wind was just too strong on the hill where we buried you a year ago. Heartbreaking scenes before your passing rushed through me. The earlier questions that troubled me were gone and were replaced by a far difficult question to answer… “Was there anything we could have done, I could have done to change the outcome of events?” I will never know.
When visiting the house I grew up in, I still half-expect you’ll be opening the gate once I buzz. Or you’d be busy preparing a meal for me. I need not say I want anything to eat. You knew what I needed. It came from knowing me --- all 28 years of it. Even to your last dying breath, you knew I needed you to be with me for my birthday. And so you waited before finally giving in.
I still find myself waiting for your voice in the mornings to wake me up for work. When you live with someone for so long, it’s impossible to change your reality so abruptly. I imagine you lots of times during family discussions what your reaction or what you would say had you been physically present. I swear I hear you sometimes.
Today, I visit you with Maynard. Over the year, us sibs have grown closer and relied on each other strengths. The trials brought about by your death awakened in us a need to be together. Our time together is no longer filled with bickering and arguments (well, not as many as it used to) but instead it is overflowing with stories, with life and with smiles. No matter how short the time we spend, we now make sense to each other. It is wonderful to belong. Your death has brought the family you so lovingly cared for a much tighter bond.
And there it was --- the answer to the questions troubling me. Why bury? My brother represented the answer.
Because as much as the piece of lot is a reminder of love lost, it is a reminder of so much love freely given and is a testimony of how that love reverberated through the lives of those who were left behind. Coming to your grave is a celebration of the life you have lived and the love that strands families, our family together.
Maybe I should rethink my stand on cremation. But only if a mark on the ground is a tangible representation of the marks I made in the hearts of those I love. Just the way you did it, Nanay. Just the way you did.
It was the 19th and I was a day late for a visit. Maynard and I were discussing, as we walked to your new home, about death and how I wanted to be cremated. And he said to me, “Okay but will then bury your ashes in the ground.” I laughed.
I wondered why our culture still holds this practice. Why put a mark on the ground for the dead? The dead is here no more. Why spend so much money for a small piece of lot? Pay a caretaker to keep the plot green and weed-free? What good does it do?
These questions were gnawing in my mind as we finally reached your grave. A wave of sadness came over me as I put down the mums over your gravestone. I tried to light the candles but the wind was just too strong on the hill where we buried you a year ago. Heartbreaking scenes before your passing rushed through me. The earlier questions that troubled me were gone and were replaced by a far difficult question to answer… “Was there anything we could have done, I could have done to change the outcome of events?” I will never know.
When visiting the house I grew up in, I still half-expect you’ll be opening the gate once I buzz. Or you’d be busy preparing a meal for me. I need not say I want anything to eat. You knew what I needed. It came from knowing me --- all 28 years of it. Even to your last dying breath, you knew I needed you to be with me for my birthday. And so you waited before finally giving in.
I still find myself waiting for your voice in the mornings to wake me up for work. When you live with someone for so long, it’s impossible to change your reality so abruptly. I imagine you lots of times during family discussions what your reaction or what you would say had you been physically present. I swear I hear you sometimes.
Today, I visit you with Maynard. Over the year, us sibs have grown closer and relied on each other strengths. The trials brought about by your death awakened in us a need to be together. Our time together is no longer filled with bickering and arguments (well, not as many as it used to) but instead it is overflowing with stories, with life and with smiles. No matter how short the time we spend, we now make sense to each other. It is wonderful to belong. Your death has brought the family you so lovingly cared for a much tighter bond.
And there it was --- the answer to the questions troubling me. Why bury? My brother represented the answer.
Because as much as the piece of lot is a reminder of love lost, it is a reminder of so much love freely given and is a testimony of how that love reverberated through the lives of those who were left behind. Coming to your grave is a celebration of the life you have lived and the love that strands families, our family together.
Maybe I should rethink my stand on cremation. But only if a mark on the ground is a tangible representation of the marks I made in the hearts of those I love. Just the way you did it, Nanay. Just the way you did.
posted by Lyra at 10:02 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home