This was my second funeral ever, the first being about 13 years ago. I've had people in my life pass away, but I was unable to attend those funerals. I have yet to lose someone very close to me, and I know my day will come, and I know that no amount of mental preparation nor experience by proxy can really prepare me for it ... these are just some thoughts regurgitated out into digital format, since I've been thinking a lot about various things since attending the funeral.
The Logical Write-Up
They say people only get together for weddings and funerals, so I started to draw some parallels between the two. Both are considered once-in-a-lifetime events that friends and family try to attend if they can. Both require some advance arrangement in terms of finding a location, planning the number of guests who will attend, figuring out who will be making speeches. Money / gifts are exchanged, though in the Chinese tradition, money is given in red envelopes for happy events (ie. weddings) while white envelopes are used for unfortunate events (ie. funerals). Both can have receptions, and thus be social events.
Both are celebrations in a way - weddings obviously celebrate the love and happiness of two people and their futures together, while funerals could be described as a celebration of the life of the deceased and wishing them well in their next destination. People cry at both.
(I feel like I've just written a segment for Wikipedia. And I know it looks like I have no feelings and could possibly be a heartless robot in human form. Please read on.)
The Emotional Write-Up
We arrived at the funeral site an hour early. Our friends, the children of the deceased, were already there getting ready for everything. We said hello, hugged, and asked if we could help with anything. They said they had things under control, and introduced us to a few relatives. I just didn't know what to do. It just felt wrong for me to socialize in such a setting, and I just had to leave the area, so we went walking around the funeral grounds until it was time to start. I felt like if I had stayed there, I would have started crying, the emotional tension was so thick, with everyone either already crying or on the verge of doing so.
I was pretty determined to not cry. It is, after all, one of the Buddhist things to do, as a show of compassion and understanding for the deceased, detaching from our relatively selfish need to have them stay here with us, so their spirit can find their way to the next stop on their journey. And then there's the logical side of it; if one person starts bawling, then there's a sort of domino effect and then it just kinda gets out of control.
Walking around the funeral area was a bit better, but I got a bit depressed reading the tombstones. Doing some math, we found children buried alongside their parents. Young men who had been killed in war. Poems penned by lovers left behind. The saddest part was seeing a little baby's area of the burial grounds. I'm glad I had company; we talked about the inevitability of birth, aging, illness, and death, and reflected on our own impermanence.
But no amount of psyching-up or logical discussion could prevent me from tearing up when our friends had to go up and basically give a toast (another wedding parallel) to their father's life and legacy. To regale the audience with stories of the fond, fond memories. It hit me hard. Their dad is about my dad's age. Would I be able to stand up and speak with such poise if it were me in their position? Would I be able to recall minutiae that I did not think significant until death tore that loved one away, making every little detail suddenly significant because those memories would be all I had left? Would grudges fall away? And why do I still have stupid grudges when life is too short to begin with and we don't ever have time to tell each other we love one another? Am I waiting until death separates us to forgive the past? If so, why?!
I was asked to help with photography so that the relatives overseas who could not attend could see the proceedings. I was relieved that I could help in some physical way, yet this was a challenge to me as well. Normally (say, at a wedding), I would be up in yo' face, snapping away, shooting away relentlessly in search of a few good shots. That day, I felt inhibited (unfathomable, I know). Suddenly it felt wrong to be up and about when everyone was trying to be quiet and still. The only thing that slapped me back to reality was the reason for the photography: the relatives.
(Now it looks like I've got multiple personality disorder. Sigh.)
We were invited to a lunch after the funeral ceremonies, and I was afraid to laugh until there was some sign that laughing would be okay from our friends. (Incidentally, that sign came in the form of, "[Insert name of new friend], this is Caroline. You know that rap video I sent you? This is her." New Friend: "I THOUGHT you looked familiar somehow!!" How can you NOT break out into a smile with THAT kind of introduction?!)
And so I'm left with this: to this day, I am still unsure as to how to help when a friend has lost someone. Should I make them laugh? Try to cheer them up? Try to have them open up and talk about the one they have lost? Avoid the topic? I feel like I already have a penchant for saying the wrong thing at the wrong time, so I feel extra hesitant in such situations to open my mouth at all.
The only thing I know is this: T, C, and S, you have always been an example that I've wanted to follow in how you interact with and treat your family, always sticking together, through thick and thin; and then always being utterly selfless and considerate towards not just your family members, but to everyone around you. You are one of the strongest examples I've encountered that makes me strive to be a better daughter and sister. This period of time isn't going to be easy, and I hope you'll reach out for support if you need an extra ear / hand / shoulder ...
