The End My Friend

Wednesday afternoon was the scheduled private family viewing at the funeral home. These two hours seemed longer than Carl's flight from NY. His sisters didn't want to see the body, they broke down crying. Tara said that he didn't look the same, she held on to the bench as her husband caught her. The boys weren't any better, Carl included. But Carl went up and looked long and hard. Although the make up was good, the embalming process made his father appear a bit puffy, his hollow cheeks and wrinkles had filled out. He was now an old man with young skin. The funeral director Joyce said that this particular process is for hot, humid climates. He would be burried with his toupe, his mother said otherwise people wouldn't recognize him. Carl blew his hose and said "True." She fussed with her husband's hair.

Hkorei cried the most, losing his grandfahter so suddenly was too overwhelming. At dinner he broke down crying at the table, which made the girls cry again. Carl carried him out of the restaurant and they sat among the Japanese tourists and plumeria trees while he cried himself out. Carl's mother didn't cry once. They all wondered if this was a dislpay of incredible strength or if was she that overwhelmed.

Thursday, February 16
Thursday morning arrived quickly, time just seemed to go back and forth like a baskeball game with a tied score. It felt as if there were no borders bewteen days. As they left the burial ground Vess said to her sons "You should quit smoking." Carl responed that it was a bad time to quit and took a slow long drag. All the boys smoke except for Victor. The car drove out of the cemetery avoiding a stray dog that wandered into the road.

Everyone was exhausted after the funeral, it started at 7:00 AM with a pall bearer procession, and ended at 4:00 PM with burial. Throughout the day a steady stream of people, familiar and unfamiliar, paid their respects and condolences. A few freind's asked Carl if he wanted to step out for a drink afterwards, he said it felt a bit inappropriate. One very stylish woman in her 70's introduced herself as the woman who groomed his father's hairpiece. An older family friend in her 90's approached my mother and asked who died, "hayi bihu giya enao ata'ut?". Carl replied in an ancient tongue, "Hungan Fe, fanmatai si tatan-mame. Si Leonidas hallom gi ata'ut." Her daughter quickly returned her back to her seat. It's not a pretty language, but very precise.

Then there were the priests that presided over the funeral, some of them Carl knew from when he studied as a young Cleric. They looked so noble, they were no longer the shabby boys that played late night pranks, such as hiding toads in one's bed, or smashing geckos in another's prayer books.They greeted him with his former title, "che'lu", and acknowleged Carl with a short nod as if they were still members of some secrect society. The day went long and there was just so much more to do concerning the post-mortem realities of finances, taxes, bills etc. Those don't go away after one dies.

Tuesday, February 21
We visted my father's grave. It was less difficult than I thought. Flowers from the funeral we're piled high on his freshly covered grave. The arrangement from Brooklyn was the largest. Other plots had plastic flowers. His grave looked like an exhibit bed at the Brooklyn Botanic Garden, except this would be labed, "Funeral Flora". I'm sure he would have been happy that we followed burial tradition: nine days of prayer and then the burial. My brothers, family friends and I were pall bearers, my nephews tagged along in tandem.

On the day of the funeral I had to write a eulogy early in the morning. The most difficlut thing wasn't writing a eulogy at 5:00 AM, it was singing happy birthday. February 16 was also my father's birthday. This was painful. Even the funeral director, Joyce, cried. Then one lst tradition before we closed the coffin: breaking his prayer beads into three peices. Otherwise the dead will walk forever, not knowing their time had past. No one wanted to do this, but I reached in and took then from my father's hand. I was suprised how soft his skin was, cold but very soft. I held the beads up for Larry and Mara to grab, I pulled at it until it broke into three peices and then wrapped them back around my father's hand.

As I pack my bags for tomorrow's long flight I worry more for my mother. She's never done taxes. ven though Victor, Tara, their families and Ralph will still be there, the house will be emptier. We celebrated my mom's brithday early since Larry, Mara and I are leaving Ladrone before then. We've had two family meetings about all of our futures plans and family finances. I leave feeling good that those things are in some kind of order.

After one dies we're taught to look for signs that one has acknowleged their own demise, or in the native tongue, Fana'gue. It's a belief that the dead will have the last word. After the second family meeting my brother Victor, his wife Roxy, and I stood outside of their house agreeing that we'll all check up on mom. Just then a porch light that had not worked in three years turned on, grew brighter and the blew out. They took it as a sign, the light switch was in fact broken and the wires were exposed and rusted. I said that was good enough for me.

There wasn't much left to inherit from. Medical bills, loans and inhertiance tax took most of that. I took a few of my father's shirts, my mother gave me one of his rings. I also took a small link of his prayer beads that didn't make it into the coffin. I took some photos of him when he was a younger man, and handsome he was. I didn't take the pictures of my father's first wife that Larry found. Out of respect for my mother I didn't even ask. I heard she finally threw them out. My mother asked if I would be back for my father's anniversary next year. I said yes. I don't know how this works legally. I'll ask my PO, Mr. L---, when I see him next week. He seems to be a man of his word.

Eplilogue
One of the ironies of how this court system works is that it would have been more difficult to have seen my father alive than dead. To acomplish the former, I'd have to complete all court mandated programs before I could even consider making such plans. It makes me angry (should I share this in Anger Management?). But in the end it didn't matter much. At least I know those court tasks will be done in time for the death anniversary.