Everyone has gathered under a tent some distance from the grave. At the grave site, there is a backhoe, and a large mound of dirt next to the grave, and on top of the grave, there is the appliance that lowers the casket. Surrounding the grave itself is a concrete vault. All are waiting for my sister's casket to arrive. Her granddaughter approaches me and asks, “Is this normal?” Yes, I say. It is a traditional Catholic burial. Her parents were both cremated and this sight, while the casket is rocking over the uneven ground toward the grave, is disturbing. She has knitted a kitten that she had hoped to put in the casket with my sister, but it is too late for that. It will go on top. Into the vault. “Nothing gets in and nothing gets out,” she says.
Other than the deacon, who has traveled 3 hours down by car, I am the only one to speak at the service. I mention Patsy’s laugh as I did at the mass service and I mention her stubbornness. I comment that everything that is happening here today is exactly as my sister wanted it to be. The fact that you are all here is as she wanted it to be. My statement seems to permit the Deacon to agree that indeed my sister was stubborn. He relates a story of bringing communion to my sister while she was in the hospital and asking her if there was anything else he could do for her. She said: “yeah, move out of my way cause I’m getting out of here.”
We walk my grandniece over to the grave. She puts her knit kitten on top. Other people visit. The deacon comes over to me and says his goodbyes. It will be a good five-hour trip back to Santa Maria through the grueling Los Angeles traffic. People start to filter away. Many of them will be heading to my brother’s house for a wake. I stay with my grandniece watching the casket slowly descend. It does not descend smoothly. Things get stuck. Straps break. It is the last bit of hard labor. We hold onto each other as the backhoe beeps its warning as it moves into reverse as it puts the vault lid into place.
My grandniece asks me: “This is the Catholic thing of keeping the body intact so it can be assumed into heaven, right?” She is a scientist with a Ph.D. in planetary geology. She is not a believer. “It is what she wanted,” I respond. She nods. She too has a grueling trip to make north through the LA traffic. The gravediggers are still working. The mortuary attendant has left. It is time to go, as unsettled as we all are. This is what happens. None of it seemed right except for the fact that this is what my sister wanted. And her say goes. We will have to deal with loss and the dissonance of the burial each in our own way. We don’t do rituals well in the land of individualism. The backhoe begins to move the mound of dirt that will cover the vault as the last of our cars begin to drive away.
— DanielSouthGate
Other than the deacon, who has traveled 3 hours down by car, I am the only one to speak at the service. I mention Patsy’s laugh as I did at the mass service and I mention her stubbornness. I comment that everything that is happening here today is exactly as my sister wanted it to be. The fact that you are all here is as she wanted it to be. My statement seems to permit the Deacon to agree that indeed my sister was stubborn. He relates a story of bringing communion to my sister while she was in the hospital and asking her if there was anything else he could do for her. She said: “yeah, move out of my way cause I’m getting out of here.”
We walk my grandniece over to the grave. She puts her knit kitten on top. Other people visit. The deacon comes over to me and says his goodbyes. It will be a good five-hour trip back to Santa Maria through the grueling Los Angeles traffic. People start to filter away. Many of them will be heading to my brother’s house for a wake. I stay with my grandniece watching the casket slowly descend. It does not descend smoothly. Things get stuck. Straps break. It is the last bit of hard labor. We hold onto each other as the backhoe beeps its warning as it moves into reverse as it puts the vault lid into place.
My grandniece asks me: “This is the Catholic thing of keeping the body intact so it can be assumed into heaven, right?” She is a scientist with a Ph.D. in planetary geology. She is not a believer. “It is what she wanted,” I respond. She nods. She too has a grueling trip to make north through the LA traffic. The gravediggers are still working. The mortuary attendant has left. It is time to go, as unsettled as we all are. This is what happens. None of it seemed right except for the fact that this is what my sister wanted. And her say goes. We will have to deal with loss and the dissonance of the burial each in our own way. We don’t do rituals well in the land of individualism. The backhoe begins to move the mound of dirt that will cover the vault as the last of our cars begin to drive away.
— DanielSouthGate
You capture a traditional Catholic burial so well. The tradition and contradictions that can exist side by side. Thank you for sharing
ReplyDeleteI was once a Catholic, but I did not realize that there is supposed to be a vault outside of the casket and that the vault is also under the ground! Not every Catholic could possibly afford this. I'm glad your sister got what she wanted, but yikes! The rather terse way you write about this is very effective. It's almost as if you've entered a labyrinth and must navigate it, and you are not even sure why. I think it's something many people can relate to. (Macoff)
ReplyDeleteYeah, the body was supposed to stay intact so it could be reunited with the soul in heaven. My sister had an insurance policy for it and even that didn't cover it all. Just one of the reasons for cremation and any other alternative.
DeleteClear narrative, full of feeling for your sister, your grandniece, and all who are gathered. Your repetition of it's what your sister wanted is a slow, mellow drumbeat. I particularly like these acknowledgements:
ReplyDeleteWe will have to deal with loss and the dissonance of the burial each in our own way. We don’t do rituals well in the land of individualism.