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.

obituaries. death. exhumations.

I read in the papers regarding a grave exhumation at a Muslim cemetery. Staying in Singapore means that land is scarce and that scarcity means even those who are supposed to rest in peace can only do so for 30 years before they have to move house.

The Malay journalist wrote that when her grandmother's grave was exhumed, the workers found her remains, with her brain intact. Speak of brain power. They attributed it to the consistent nicotine intake, or perhaps even meditation. 

Apparently, no machines were used. All the work was done by hand and spade out of  respect for the dead. The poor workers had to dig their hands into muddy waters to look for charred ribs, and broken skulls. What a job! And apparently men's bones were better preserved than women's.

So that led me to a few thoughts:

Firstly, the frivolous: We women better get more calcium intake for all its worth. Not only do we prevent osteoporosis, we also leave behind more for the living to mourn when our turn comes to be exhumed.

And maybe I would want to be cremated instead of being buried. I mean, imagine the stress of your children and their children having to see their mom/granny after 30 years in the grave, unclothed and with insides exposed and stringy hair. I wouldn't enjoy that. Not to mean the emotional upheaval of having to go through the whole funereal process again, saying goodbye for the second time.

Secondly, when I flipped over to the obituaries, I saw pictures of the deceased at different ages. Some were really young. Like 34. Some lived to a ripe old age with listings of their descendants in loving memory of them. Quite a few of them survived to their 50s. I think reading the obituaries has a very sobering effect on most people. It challenged me to think of my life and filled my thoughts with questions. Whether I would be happy to leave the earth yet. Whether I had accomplished enough. Whether I should have children. What kind of legacy I wanted to leave. When is my turn to go. Who will mourn me.

I guess, every now and then, it is really a good thing to flip the pages of obituaries and reflect on what life and death has to offer. It did me some good.