A Somewhat Haunting Scene

Allow me to spin to you the tale of an actual current event. My co worker's (codenamed Sali) mother passed beyond the rain a few days ago. Sali is a bright and cheerful young lady with an Arabic and eastern orthodox lineage. From her character and life I have seen much fruit and have little doubt as to her salvation. She has often told me how her mom has been an inspiration in her life and based on what I've seen in her I wouldn't be surprised to find the Mrs. in heaven one day. I never met Sali's mother but by all accounts she was a beautiful person, how similar her wake was to this.

There was still large amounts of snow on the ground from the big storm only two days prior to the wake. It took me about a quarter of an hour to dig out my car and another to arrive at my destination. Rose Hill Cemetery is not a quiet and secluded place, it is not nestled behind green hills beside a forest, and it is not tiny or quaint. In fact it is just off of Main street, immediately after the Mall, and before another large shopping complex. Despite this odd geographical placement the church by the Cemetery was all the things a grave-side church should be, simple, ambiguous, and beautiful.

I noticed it didn't have any icons or statues right off the bat, it was white on the outside and a softer dim off-white inside. People in dark colors were spread out in clumps of two or three in the receiving area. They were talking in low voices some in English, but most in Arabic or some other foreign language. Many were richly dressed wearing Mink or expensive Italian suits, some were obviously college students with their cargoes or jeans, but everyone was mindful of their current purpose. Death, it seemed, had gathered this conglomerate of tongues in one place.

I eased past the early wave of mourners and signed in, leaving my name and address, and entered into the sanctuary. It was of moderate size following the form of a catholic church (with the nave and focal) minus the statues, pillars, and icons. There were dark wood pews to sit on and I noticed a few friends of mine from work closer to the front where Sali and her family were standing, greeting, crying, and huddling together for protection from some unseen cold.

In the sanctuary guests and families were seated sporadically some were whispering to each other but most were in silent contemplation. The casket was open revealing a middle aged red headed woman with a kind face, an old style eastern cross, a picture of the same woman when she was younger, and a white cloth settled around her. A stool was placed in front of the coffin for those who practiced by any form of the Catholic faith, twenty flower baskets were spread out to the right and left, and a small piano was nestled in the corner. The ceiling, mostly grey, turned white then a majestic looking indigo (representing the Holy See) which melded into a stained glass window of what was probably paradise.

A large family was greeting Sali and her family, they looked to be fast friends. For they kissed each other on the cheeks three times and hugged each other, right before dissolving into tears and sobs as they spoke something in incoherent Arabic. Their meeting was passionate, but brief and they soon had moved on. Round the bend another family came, and another, some with little children, others slowly with canes, and still more in the spring of life. I watched as a family member to Sali brought her new born baby boy for them to hold. Mourning gave way to smiles of delight as they passed the little one to and fro. His giggles and cries of delight melted so many more hearts and they cried more, this time for the joy of life.

Soon enough I went forward with my friend and coworker to offer our condolences, there wasn't much to say so I hugged her and went to pay my respects to her mother. All I could think of as I stood there was this woman's legacy, all of the people in that room may not have cared for her much in life but they were there for her death. Many were suffering the signs of many tears, others of boredom, but they had come to show to Sali and their family that her life was not in vain that she had gained friends and left a big pattern in the fabric of society which would continue to affect it for generations. As I commented to someone while standing in line at the local Barns and Noble (don't ask how we got on the topic) death may be a part of life but so many forget that life is a part of death.

Here's to you, mother to Sali and dear to the hearts of many, I at least am convinced of your life after death. See you there.

Dt