The funeral

This morning, I was woken up by two little girls in my town calling my name softly outside my door. This is not abnormal, and I was extremely tired, so I rolled over, wanting to go back to sleep and just ignore them. But something inside me told me I should go out there. So I did. When I opened the door, I saw two little girls, cousins, looking up at me. The smaller one began speaking to me rapidly, and I had just woken up, so what she was telling me didn’t really register at first. When I then figured out what she was saying, I realized that her baby brother, who was born yesterday at 1 in the afternoon, 2 months early, had died. They wanted me to go and take a picture, so they could have a reminder of her baby brother who had barely lived 4 hours, which she had never been able to meet.

I ran into my room to change, and in a couple minutes was ready with my camera, and began walking towards the house with them. On the way there, I kept asking questions to the little girls to keep my mind off the horrific event and to keep from crying. When I got to the house, I saw the grandmother, whose cheeks were stained with tears, and the mother, and gave them both hugs. The mother actually looked surprisingly well, as if she hadn’t been crying at all.

Knowing how easily I cry, I hoped and prayed as I walked toward the room where they had baby that I wouldn’t burst out into tears. When I saw the baby, he looked like a normal, healthy baby who was just sleeping. For a split second, I thought he might actually wake up any second. I couldn’t help it, and even with all the kids gathered around me waiting to see my reaction, tears filled up in my eyes as I tried with all my might to hold them back. I quietly took 3 or 4 pictures of the baby, hoping I wouldn’t have them in my camera too long, knowing that it would kill me to look at them every time I ran through my pictures.

After taking the pictures, I sat down and quietly observed as the other mourners came to see the baby. I was surprised and slightly confused by the reactions of everyone. Almost none of the women who went to see the baby seemed to be bothered at all by the sight of him. Most of them, actually, as they approached the baby smiled and whispered ¨oh, he would have been so cute!¨, as if he were still alive. As I watched everyone come and go, I sat in awe and confusion by the reactions of all the people. So many would say to the mother, ¨well, that’s the way the Lord wanted it.¨ And just accepted it as one of the many pains a person has to endure in life. And almost no one went up to console the mother, rather would ask her questions such as ¨so, when was he born?¨ then, ¨When did he die?¨ and right into ¨I think it might rain today.¨

I think one thing that hurts the most is how something that is viewed as such a horrible pain to go through in the States, is so common here that most people don’t even see it as a very big deal. However, I have also noticed that people seemed to generally take deaths much more easily here than in the States. It may be because the majority believes that if the person was good, he or she is in heaven right now and there’s no reason to cry over that. They also very readily accept such a painful event as God’s will. I still don’t know if this is naivety or wisdom, but I know that I’m jealous of such faith and strength to be able to get through something like that with out wanting to give up or turn your back on everything.