People are coming from all over. Some were holding an umbrella above their heads and others without, trying to cover their heads with their jackets, or hands. They are trying to find their way and walk in between the big muddy spaces. Lots of mud, very few trees, lots of grass. Open space. Pastoral.
People are gathering under the tiny asbestos shed coverage, where drops of rain can still come through and fall on their heads softly and calmly, in an annoying way. Most of the people are waiting silently. Only few are weeping and distracting the silence and the rain drops sound on the shed. Everyone is now gathered and "ready". Waiting. Soon. Soon she will arrive.
Not long time after, she arrives. A 80+ years old woman, a daughter, a sister, a mother, an aunt, a grandmother. She is laying down on a stretcher in a private ambulance. She is covered with a black cloth, a very simple black cloth, symbolizing how little and humble human beings are in front of GOD - isn't it?
He is here too, a 90+ years old man. He sat there, in pain, not knowing what to do, how to behave. He just lost his beloved wife, after 60 years of marriage, of togetherness in good and bad times.
60 years. 60!
But she didn't want to stay any longer. She left. She couldn't bare life anymore, even though she was loved by her husband and all her family and friends. She gave up, and now she is gone. Or shall we say, her time has arrived? She left her beloved with pain, but maybe relief as well.
Prayers were prayed and eulogy speeches were spoken in a sincere and touching way that lets you respect and love the person laying there even if you didn't know her that well - she was a good person, a funny person, even though not a perfect person.
It is time to let go. Four men were requested to help carry the body. Some men felt inconvenient. Maybe they have back pain, maybe they don't like to get close to a dead body, or maybe they were not the closest to her and felt that others shall walk her to her last destination; they moved away. Eventually four courageous men came and started the walk towards the grave.
Walking through the mud, umbrellas are picked up again and people followed slowly. The men slide her into the muddy grave dug into the reddish brown soil, put a layer of wood plates on her, and started covering her with the soil until the surface level was reached. Her husband, daughters, grandchildren, brother, sister and all other relatives and friends were standing there, some seemed relieved, some are in deep pain, some are weeping, and some just keeping it all inside, somewhere that no one can ever see or feel. Her name, written correctly, was put on a wooden stick and pushed into the mud on top of the grave. Flowers, lots of flowers are covering the mud. Red flowers. yellow too, but mainly red.
I was standing there, trying to be supportive to my dearest and thinking about life and death, about beginnings and ends. I was thinking about myself, about my relationships, about my beloved, about whether there could be a chance that we are burring something that is still alive breathing even though silently and slowly, but something that can be saved. Is she alive? is it alive? who has confirmed that she was dead? did anyone see her soul getting out of her body? if so, then where did it go? can someone catch it and put it back into her? what if her soul is still there and it is only a matter of giving her some first aid? Do I doubt her death?
I was thinking about new beginnings, about overcoming the endings, about life after death and about death after life. I was thinking about grief, about how hard and sad it could be, about how difficult it is to leave a beloved person, about how hard it is to be left alone, and about how they managed to stay 60 years together until death took them apart.
60 years of togetherness, a number I believe I'd never reach, being a 35+ single woman. How I envy them. It reminds me of my grandparents too. Even though they had some rough times, and I bet they so much wanted to get rid of reach other sometimes, they stayed together.
I still envy them for the power and strength to stay together. Or is it actually the weakness of "no other choice"?
I might never know.
"For you are dust, and to dust you shall return".
The weeping increases, some do it more hysterically and others so silently that you could not hear it or see it, just feel its waves though the cold air touching your soul.
He is here too, a 90+ years old man. He sat there, in pain, not knowing what to do, how to behave. He just lost his beloved wife, after 60 years of marriage, of togetherness in good and bad times.
60 years. 60!
But she didn't want to stay any longer. She left. She couldn't bare life anymore, even though she was loved by her husband and all her family and friends. She gave up, and now she is gone. Or shall we say, her time has arrived? She left her beloved with pain, but maybe relief as well.
Prayers were prayed and eulogy speeches were spoken in a sincere and touching way that lets you respect and love the person laying there even if you didn't know her that well - she was a good person, a funny person, even though not a perfect person.
It is time to let go. Four men were requested to help carry the body. Some men felt inconvenient. Maybe they have back pain, maybe they don't like to get close to a dead body, or maybe they were not the closest to her and felt that others shall walk her to her last destination; they moved away. Eventually four courageous men came and started the walk towards the grave.
Walking through the mud, umbrellas are picked up again and people followed slowly. The men slide her into the muddy grave dug into the reddish brown soil, put a layer of wood plates on her, and started covering her with the soil until the surface level was reached. Her husband, daughters, grandchildren, brother, sister and all other relatives and friends were standing there, some seemed relieved, some are in deep pain, some are weeping, and some just keeping it all inside, somewhere that no one can ever see or feel. Her name, written correctly, was put on a wooden stick and pushed into the mud on top of the grave. Flowers, lots of flowers are covering the mud. Red flowers. yellow too, but mainly red.
I was standing there, trying to be supportive to my dearest and thinking about life and death, about beginnings and ends. I was thinking about myself, about my relationships, about my beloved, about whether there could be a chance that we are burring something that is still alive breathing even though silently and slowly, but something that can be saved. Is she alive? is it alive? who has confirmed that she was dead? did anyone see her soul getting out of her body? if so, then where did it go? can someone catch it and put it back into her? what if her soul is still there and it is only a matter of giving her some first aid? Do I doubt her death?
I was thinking about new beginnings, about overcoming the endings, about life after death and about death after life. I was thinking about grief, about how hard and sad it could be, about how difficult it is to leave a beloved person, about how hard it is to be left alone, and about how they managed to stay 60 years together until death took them apart.
60 years of togetherness, a number I believe I'd never reach, being a 35+ single woman. How I envy them. It reminds me of my grandparents too. Even though they had some rough times, and I bet they so much wanted to get rid of reach other sometimes, they stayed together.
I still envy them for the power and strength to stay together. Or is it actually the weakness of "no other choice"?
I might never know.
Gravedigger,
when you dig my grave
could you make it shallow
so that i can feel the rain...
