A Funeral

Half my day was spent at a distant relative's funeral today, including a visit to the Mandai Columbarium. It was sobering spending the last 2 nights with the bereaved senior citizen who has lost a husband, and a middle-aged single daughter who has lost a dad. It was a sad case. The three of them had each other, and now they only have each other. The old folks used to spend 24/7 together, day in day out and their only daughter sacrificed her lifelong happiness out of filial piety towards them, so as to support her aging parents.

I haven't attended that many funerals before, but of those that I have, I have never encountered a family with such vehement outward displays of grief. Over the 3 nights of wake, the daughter was a pillar of support for her grieving mom who appeared to be unable to control her tears. She would whisper comforting words to her mom and hug her close whenever the elder woman tried to charge towards the coffin with loud sobs.

Today after the short memorial at the void deck of a HDB flat, as the coffin was lifted into the hearse, there was loud bawling. I looked towards the old lady who was screaming at the top of her lungs for her beloved husband. Beside her was her daughter, howling even louder. This went on for nearly ten minutes non-stop as they followed the hearse's slow crawl out of the carpark. Even though I wasn't close to the deceased at all, seeing them this way made me want to tear as well. When we took them into our car to send them to the columbarium, their loud sobs filled the vehicle for another ten minutes. It was quite unbearable hearing the repetitive strains of grief and sorrow pouring out so intensely and forcibly right behind me. I compelled myself to tune out by thinking of other nicer things.

The end of the funeral was the most affected as the bereaved women had to be restrained and held as their beloved was pushed out. Relatives and friends didn't know how to console them as they shouted "papa I love you" at the coffin. It was a traumatic moment.

We were led to a viewing hall next where all present could view the final moments of the deceased. It was a very mechanical process, very unfeeling, very perfunctory. An empty room came into view. Then a machine with wheels was set in place. The coffin was positioned in front of the machine while workmen pressed some knobs to get the engine working. A few seconds later, the coffin made its slow journey towards a wooden wall, which opened to reveal a furnace hatch. The coffin reaches its destination, it is lifted high enough to fit into the hatch, hatch door opens and coffin is pushed in. Wooden wall closes. The end. The crowd hug each other for comfort and strength to carry on. There was a struggle between mother and daughter for the framed picture of the deceased. They wept so much they had to be helped out. It was a moving scene.

It must be very heartbreaking to see the body of the person you love treated in such a impersonal way, especially since you know that at that very moment the door closes, flames are engulfing his body, burning the person who you once hugged and kissed to charred bits. This is the most terrible moment when a loved one dies -- when you know that there is nothing to hold on to anymore. Except ashes. That is the saddest part about cremation.

I attended a burial last year. In contrast, the process was much easier to deal with. Family and friends gathered around the coffin in the hole surrounded by freshly-dug soil. Prayers are said. Each one said their piece. Flowers were thrown and finally the soil is thrown over, spadeful by spadeful till nothing remains to be seen. Knowing that your beloved lies just beneath, resting peacefully with all his little mementoes beside him, makes a huge difference to the living. It will not be ashes that you come to visit. It will still be him inside. Unfortunately in land-scarce Singapore, nothing is ever permanent. A burial might mean another traumatic exhumation in 30 years, a disturbance of the dead, if we are lucky enough to be alive then.