4 Weddings & a Funeral

Soviet's father died this week from Kidney cancer.  He was 71.  Like weddings, funerals last for three days too.  I have seen caskets in stores and always wondered who would buy them since the bodies are cremated in Buddhist societies.  Now, I understand their purpose.  The body remains at home during the three days while family and friends visit the house, eat, and talk.  In this heat, you need to put the body in something.

On the last day, the casket is loaded onto an elaborately carved and painted cart with a moto driver in front.  A few monks sit along the sides, and loud music erupts from the loudspeaker attached to the front.  (I will never get used to the Cambodian's preferred volume of music.  In fact, right now, at 6:30 in the morning, I can hear music coming from two wats; one from the north, and one from the south.)   

The relatives of the deceased walk in the front of the long procession as we follow the cart to the nearest pagoda, about a kilometer away.  Everyone wears white.  I wore my funeral shirt too.  That's what I call the one white shirt I happened to bring and only pull out for Buddhist ceremonies. 

As we walked, I thought about all the special events that I have had the privilege of experiencing in Cambodia.  So far, I have been attended 4 weddings, a birthday, the birth of Sey-hak (my special Godson) and Laum's baby, several birthday parties, Christmas, Khmer New Year, a pagoda opening, Buddhist ceremonies, and all the holidays for an entire year.  The grand finale will be Laum's wedding which takes place in about a week and a half.  He gave me an invitation which was written all in Khmer of course.  I opened it, and pretending to be reading the Khmer said, "Laum is getting married.  Finally!  It is a miracle."  He laughed and gave me a hug. 

I am happy to feel so accepted among my new friends.  These are things that the average tourist would never get to experience.  Despite the difficulties that go along with living in the third world, I feel grateful and lucky.  For example, the other night, it was 7:00 pm, and I was reading in bed when I heard knocking on my window and a boy's voice say, "Cha!"  It was Mey, one of my students.  He gave me a bag of mangoes from their tree. 

The procession ended at the pagoda, and the casket was placed on a cement block in front of the furnace.  A few people collected all the incense and sprigs of herbs that we carried.  I'm not sure what they do with it all, but I assume they throw it into the fire.

Just like at a wedding, the family members walk around in a circle, only this time it's around the casket, not a giant pile of fruit.  There was a nice, large photograph of the father on a pedestal, surrounded by a wreath in front.  After walking around in circles for a long time, the monks prayed.  I wonder what they pray about.  They believe in reincarnation, so I suppose they pray that his next life is even better. 

Soviet's head was completely shaved, and I asked Rana if it was symbolic.  She said that the son's  (and sometimes even the daughters) of the dead parent will shave their heads as a sign of respect, but this is optional.  Soviet seemed touched that Cynthia and I were there.  He thanked us for coming, and then I realized that I didn't know what to say.  "I hope he's reincarnated as something cool" didn't seem appropriate.  I simply said, "I'm sorry for your loss."  Funerals are bittersweet in Buddhism as in Christianity.  Buddhists hope for a better lot in their next life while Christians look forward to going to heaven. 

The pagoda was a peaceful place with a huge pond of large pink lotus flowers which are now blooming again with all the rain.  During the dry season, the ponds just contained dust covered lily pads, but now they are as spectacular as when I first arrived in this country.