Fallecida

When I worked in a nursing home, I was around death on a daily basis. I remember one day a woman at Sholom Home had a heart attack while eating her Friday fish dinner. Afterwards, I talked to the residents in the home about it. "I'm just so happy for her," one woman said. "Me too, I hope I have a death like that". There was grief, but there was also gratefulness.

On Friday afternoon our friends Chomingo and David lost their grandmother. Nina Carmen was the type of woman that no one can forget. They called her "the engineer", because she was the engineer of their lives. She could make anything happen. She was a storyteller, a dream weaver  At least, so we have heard.

When we met Chomingo and David their grandmother was suffering from dementia, as well as heart problems and who knows what else. It has been so interesting to watch how they have cared for her. A nursing home is not an option. When a person gets sick, it is the family's responsibility to take care of them - whatever it takes. 

The last time we visited their house, we were celebrating David's daughter's birthday. At the party, the family helped her with some bandages for her leg. They took her to the bathroom. They put a sheet up and bathed her in her chair. They have stayed up night after night with her, making sure she has what she needs. Taking her to the hospital, bringing her back. Exhausting, but isn't that love?

On Saturday we went to the funeral. It began with a mass in the church, for Carmen and 3 other people who died this past week in Suchitoto. The priest talked about death and life and hope. The church was full of people. Afterwards we walked, a huge mass behind the pick up trucks with caskets. There was loud pop Christian music blaring. There were a few drunk men in the crowd. I suppose alcohol is a way of coping, it's just so public here!

We arrived and followed the group from El Bario to the place where Carmen would be buried. To arrive at this place, in the corner of the graveyard, one has to walk over many graves. There's just not space. I still feel strange walking over the mounds of dirt where people are buried, but that is the way it is. 

We gathered around and someone led the singing of some songs. David spoke briefly. They opened part of the casket so that people could see Carmen's face, and say goodbye. Many women carried towels to wipe their tears. They moved the casket into the ground, and the crowd threw dirt into the hole. People stood around chatting, hugging for a long time until finally they went their separate ways.

In the United States we try so hard to be formal. To do things just right. I was struck by the informality of the graveside service. It was a time to say goodbye, nothing scripted or rehearsed. There was the woman nursing, the man on their cell phone, the man too drunk to stand. At the end of the burial, there was no final song, just a sadness and a moving on.

Solos, graves, feroces, entre la sombra

Entre las horas, entre un antes y un despues.

//

Alone, serious, fierce, between the shadow,

Between the hours, between a before and an after.

-Idea Vilarino