Dear Family and Friends:
Of death, William Shakespeare penned several poems; one
is:
Come away,
come away, death,
And in sad cypress let me be laid.
Fly away, fly
away, breath;
I am slain by a fair cruel maid.
My shroud of
white, stuck all with yew,
O, prepare it!
My part of
death, no one so true
Did share it.
Not a flower,
not a flower sweet,
On my black coffin let there be strown.
Not a friend,
not a friend greet
My poor corpse, where my bones shall be thrown.
A thousand
thousand sighs to save,
Lay me, O, where
Sad true lover
never find my grave,
To weep there!
("Come
Away, Come Away, Death")
This past Thursday, I stood along a wall as a shroud
passed.
I had been a bit self-absorbed the last three hours that
day, as the construction company plumber was going back and forth between the Guesthouse
and outside. I was praying that the four of us who live on the second
floor would have some respite from a week of bucket baths.
It matters not here whether we had showers from a nozzle
that night. What matters to me now is the recognition that at times I have lost
my bearings when navigating between trivial things and matters of importance to
us and our loved ones. On Thursday, all of my senses were jolted by death
in that hallway.
As I walked from the second floor into the main entrance
to the hospital, I heard a woman speaking very quickly to those with her, with
a few moans injected into the conversation. They were at the initial hospital
entrance at the street, not near the hospital lobby entrance. In just the
few seconds it took me to cross the lobby and go out back, I glanced their way
and just assumed here was just another relative waiting for news from the
Emergency Room physician or a nurse about the treatment needed for some injury.
I had not noticed the large black vehicle with "Paradis" on the
driver's side panel.
I was really peeved when I couldn't find the plumber out
back near the main pipelines that serve water to the hospital and the
Guesthouse. I thought," I bet he left for day without getting us water.
Give me a break please."
I was looking down and not really paying any attention to
those nearby as I started back across the lobby to the Guesthouse stairway.
The woman's excited conversation had dramatically changed to a wail.
Even then I didn't recognize the reason, not until a few seconds later
when
a nurse held her hand out signaling me to stand along the
hallway.
Two attendants were carrying a bright white shroud.
It was wrapped so tight that I could see a general outline of a face and
the length and size of the deceased. As the stretcher came out into
daylight, and could be seen directly by the woman, she collapsed on the ground.
I think she was in her mid to late twenties. I will not soon forget the oscillating
screams and cries, as her friends tried to bring her to her feet. It was
as if her legs had turned to jelly. The widow or sister or close friend of the person being placed into the
hearse remained on the ground for what seemed an eternity.
The deaths of my beloved parents and my dear brother were
expected. They all died in hospice care.
I have never before faced death and its devastating
aftermath in such an immediate and jolting fashion. While we of course
see its outward signs, the intangible essence of pure raw grief is not visible;
but it is palpable. It crawled into the hospital last Thursday afternoon,
and judging by their reactions it hit certain people very hard.
I would expect that all hospital staff, out of necessity,
would have grown an extra thick layer of "emotional skin," as
protection of sorts from just such events. Not so to my observation.
I do not know whether January 12, 2010 and its aftermath have changed the
way many in Leogane react to death in their midst. I would not be
surprised to have someone tell me that the memory of 20,000 people lost to the Quake
in Leogane has forever dulled their senses. But I also expect that others
have a chronic low level infection of grief that spikes at the sight of a
funeral procession.
If you work or live in the vicinity of l'hopital Sainte
Croix, you will hear and see many of the funeral processions going toward the Leogane
Cemetery. The street on the northern edge of the hospital is the
principal passageway for those who have left this life. Sometimes it
seems that death comes in bunches in Leogane. Two weeks ago, three funeral
processions approached the intersection on the northwest corner of the
hospital; two coming from the west and one from the north. It was so
crowded that the second and third processions came to a halt to allow the first procession, and its funeral
music, to fade as it moved closer to the cemetery. In turn, the third procession
had to wait again as the second procession moved once again toward the east.
I must remember, however, that funerals will pass by here
often, because this is the main street to the cemetery, and Leogane the city had
a population of 100,000 before 5% of its citizens died in the earthquake.
As I write this Note, I have watched from the roof of the
hospital eight or nine funerals process toward the cemetery. Each of
these funerals has been led by a band. While most play music that would
be called somber, some have mixed in more upbeat "New Orleans-style" funeral
procession melodies. During most of the funerals I have observed, what I
have assumed was the widow or mother was walking directly behind the hearse,
being supported on both sides by family or friends. This person did not walk
quietly. Other times, someone who I surmised was a sister or aunt was
following a little farther back, and also being supported by others as she was
sobbing loudly enough for me to hear.
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I had brought my camera to the roof just in case the music
was from a rara band. Until last Saturday, I had not felt comfortable photographing
a funeral procession, even from the roof.
But when
I saw a woman, who clearing was part of the funeral group, standing in the
middle of the intersection off the northwest corner of the hospital taking
several pictures, I used my camera. I will be sending you some of the
photographs. The large contingent of girls toward the front, in light
brown outfits, are Girl Scouts. As I mentioned before, at the Episcopal
church next door, Girl Scouts in uniform sometime serve as ushers during
communion and have other duties during the service. There also were Girl
Scouts trying to hold back motos during the Catholic Stations of the Cross
procession on Good Friday.
As I'm typing this note, I’m wondering whether a funeral
procession will pass by in the next few days, with the woman I saw last
Thursday walking behind a hearse. Perhaps not, because it is obvious to
me, after walking around Leogane off and on for a month, that these processions
cannot be afforded by all in Leogane. I would expect that most, if not all,
of the people I saw at the tent city last Saturday could not afford this type
of send off.
When I was watching the rara events of last Sunday, I did
not expect to see many people from the tent city. After seven or eight o'clock that
night, I think some were worried more about finding food for themselves and
their children for the next day. Rather than dancing and singing along
with a rara band down below my window, I imagine some were quietly talking or
singing to their children, and praying that sleep would bring a few hours
respite from hunger.
"Unlike the capital, Leogane's
mass graves are in the town itself, alongside a main road and just in
front of the cemetery. Piles of dirt and concrete sit above them, old
clothes, underwear and shoes
mixed in." (M. J. Smith AFP,
Life goes on at Haiti's quake epicenter (24 Feb. 10). The caption under the
photograph states in part: "Rubble covers a mass grave on
the side of a road just outside a cemetery in the coastal city of
Leogane in February 23, 2010."
A memorial to all those in the mass grave now is on the
surface, above the rubble now serving as grave cover.
.JPG)
Many years ago, Jeanne and I were stopped in traffic for a
funeral when she told me that while growing up, when she and her siblings were with
a parent, they would say the rosary as a funeral procession passed their car or
where they were walking. Knowing Jeanne and some of her siblings, I bet a few of them did the same when
neither of their parents were with them.
I'm going to modify that tradition some. I have promised
myself that when a funeral procession passes by me here, and also when I'm back
in the States, I will pause to think of the people in mass graves everywhere;
to remember all of the families who did not have the chance for a personal, in
person last goodbye of honor. It will not only think of Leogane and other mass
graves in Haiti, but those in Indonesia from the tsunami there, the earthquake
and tsunami in Japan, the Jewish Holocaust of World War II, the Cambodia
Holocaust, Serbia and Bosnia, and all other such mass burial places on this
earth.
I hope that these pauses will jolt me, when needed, to
remember always to cherish those who are so important to me and who have meant
so much to my becoming who I am. And to let them know that often.
I have more to share with you about various things going
on in Leogane and elsewhere in Haiti. Out of respect for the dead, that
can wait for another day.
I hope this Note finds you and your loved ones in good
health and spirits.
David
April
30, 2011
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