A light rain at the funeral.

I can’t remember when the last time was that I went to a funeral. Ever since my brother died in 1993 I am very sensitive to loss and I find it difficult to attend services. But life and the inevitable death keep reminding me of our temporary status on this planet. We can do our best to live a straightforward life, yet we all must go one day. Some go by accident, some by murder. Some are plagued by illnesses that inhabit your body and bring pain as deep as the soul until finally taking your last breath. Such was the cancer that took my aunt’s life last week. She experienced a slow and painful death to the last minute.

Her name was, Maria Ines Chavez, a very young fifty-one year old with a permanent smile, a lovely soul and a can do attitude that she passed on to the five children that she is survived by. Her little body was a strong pillar of support to my six foot tall uncle that I saw cry for the first time this past Monday and Tuesday.

I won’t pretend to know anything about the experience of cancer. I don’t. I can’t imagine how my cousins lived these past years watching their mother slowly die. Is it any easier to know that someone is on their way? I don’t think so.

When my brother died in 1993, he was murdered. The shock to the nervous system was intense and it stayed with me for years. Even to this day, it can catch me by surprise and trigger a flood of tears.

Still, I can’t imagine sitting next to my mother for years not knowing which hug would be the last time that she hugged me. Not knowing if this would be the last sign of the cross she made across my face. I just can’t fathom it and I get a knot in my throat thinking about it.

I finally feel the reality that my aunt is dead when we arrived at the wake on Monday evening.

I was thinking of how I hate it when people treat these occasions like a family reunion. It’s hard to avoid it when you are there with family you haven’t seen in years. I just remember how much I hated small talk when my brother died. It’s so tough to say hi to so many people while someone you love is lying in a casket six feet away.

In between two orange groves at the foot of small hills was this little funeral home. I walked ahead of everyone and opened the door. The murmur of the rosary being read was hypnotizing. I had to close the door and wait for my family and we all walked in together. I was overwhelmed with emotion for a second so I had to walk back out one more time. Then I went back in and took my seat.

A million Hail Maries were voiced in unison; a thousand Our Fathers. After the rosary, three very brave young women read letters to their deceased mother.  They told stories of their mother’s refusal to feel sorry for herself during her illness. They read about how when the doctor told her she had cancer her only reply was that it is the will of God and so it shall be. Tears filled the room. Sounds of muffled crying came from all directions. We all paid our respects.

When everyone came outside I had to walk over to the orange grove and have a private moment with my tears.

Huddled under umbrellas to pay respect.

The next day at the funeral the firmament was gray and cloudy. The sky let loose the rain. The pitter-patter on the church roof was comforting. Not one empty space. I had to sit in the choir balcony.

At the cemetery the rain felt good. It was a light rain. Just enough to let you know it was there. The ceremony was short and simple. Then, just like that, we all say good-bye to my aunt for the last time before she is lowered below the ground.

That’s when I imagined my cousins and my uncle dealing with the aftermath. The days they will have around their house remembering. The new loneliness my uncle will have at night in his room. The high school and college graduations the girls will experience without their mother, the weddings. The love the grandchildren will miss and the grandchildren who never met her.

After everyone is gone, that’s when the mourning begins. I don’t think it ever ends.