Last week, someone living in my apartment building died.
Late one evening, the sound of crying and talking carried up the stairwell to our apartment. While that was unusual, it wasn't until the next morning when I left the building that it started to become clear someone had passed away; the entrance door was propped open, a group of men in suits were near the building and a crying teenage girl, surrounded by friends who consoled her, proceeded down the street. When I got home that evening, the traditional tent was set up in front of the building, signifying a death. Mourners came and went; the Koran was read every few hours all evening and late into the night. Food was brought by friends and neighbours.
I find it difficult to find words adequate to express sympathy or comfort when someone passes away. In this case even more so since I do not know the family that lives in the apartment on the first floor, nor who exactly passed away. If that wasn't difficult enough, trying to convey them in another language and to suit the traditions of another culture and religion make it more so.
What was not so different was the sense of a community reaching out to comfort their own. The girl's schoolmates comforting her, the neighbours doing their duty to bring food, pray and take care of the family. Rituals and traditions provide a role, a known structure, that in and of itself is comforting.
Perhaps this was so poignant because last Friday, the day after the 3-day mourning and funeral period ended, my own paternal grandfather passed away, from a very short illness, at the age of 90. It is difficult to mourn when you know you're half a world away, and that the rest of your family is together. Luckily, we were able to hold a family reunion this past July, with most of my extended family present, and earlier in November the family held a birthday party to celebrate his 90th, so most relatives had visited with him recently.
This was especially sad for me because I never thought that it would be my last visit when I saw my grandfather in September before I left for Morocco. As well, on the eve of my departure, two separate life events happened - my first niece was born, and my maternal grandfather passed away. Needless to say, it wasn't the best time to leave for 6 1/2 months, but when really is there ever a best time? Both grandfathers would have wanted me to go and have this experience (I doubt my niece will mind!).
Anyways, this is a rather sombre post, so I will end it by saying that I have a lot of very good memories of both my grandfathers, and many photos of happier times too. I am also thankful for all the kind words from friends and family and am glad to know so many people are looking out for my family.
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| the tent set up for mourning in front of the entrance |
I find it difficult to find words adequate to express sympathy or comfort when someone passes away. In this case even more so since I do not know the family that lives in the apartment on the first floor, nor who exactly passed away. If that wasn't difficult enough, trying to convey them in another language and to suit the traditions of another culture and religion make it more so.
What was not so different was the sense of a community reaching out to comfort their own. The girl's schoolmates comforting her, the neighbours doing their duty to bring food, pray and take care of the family. Rituals and traditions provide a role, a known structure, that in and of itself is comforting.
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| Grampy with 4/5th of my sibs and I. Love the faces! |
Perhaps this was so poignant because last Friday, the day after the 3-day mourning and funeral period ended, my own paternal grandfather passed away, from a very short illness, at the age of 90. It is difficult to mourn when you know you're half a world away, and that the rest of your family is together. Luckily, we were able to hold a family reunion this past July, with most of my extended family present, and earlier in November the family held a birthday party to celebrate his 90th, so most relatives had visited with him recently.
This was especially sad for me because I never thought that it would be my last visit when I saw my grandfather in September before I left for Morocco. As well, on the eve of my departure, two separate life events happened - my first niece was born, and my maternal grandfather passed away. Needless to say, it wasn't the best time to leave for 6 1/2 months, but when really is there ever a best time? Both grandfathers would have wanted me to go and have this experience (I doubt my niece will mind!).
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| Grandpa Don (Johnston)at his 80th bday with me, my sibs and brother-in-law |
Anyways, this is a rather sombre post, so I will end it by saying that I have a lot of very good memories of both my grandfathers, and many photos of happier times too. I am also thankful for all the kind words from friends and family and am glad to know so many people are looking out for my family.
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