Funeral TBD!

It’s been a rather somber week. A phone call from my brother roused me as I was about to segue into my second REM sleep phase for that night. Dreamily aware of the ominous odd-hour phone call, I hesitated as I grudgingly answered the call. A close family friend had just passed away after an unsuccessful surgery to treat a cancerous stomach already in its terminal phase. To add to the pall creeping in, a cousin’s grandson also did not make it through what I gathered was a freak but fatal accident while playing with some friends. A five-year old life nipped in the bud.

Another short burst of activity on the phone. This time a text message. It read, “Thanks for your prayers. Mom passed away. Funeral TBD.” My colleague had left a voicemail saying that he had to leave on an emergency to be with his mom. I managed to catch him while in transit on his way home. He gave me no details but the tone of his voice spoke more than an elaborate run-down of the situation. His text message came in the day after this brief conversation on the phone. I was busy dispatching the news to our circle when I thought I’d find some distraction on the television—maybe a sappy reality show or a dose of celeb-gossip pulp on TMZ. Flicking randomly through the channels, I found myself stuck on a news channel flashing computer generated maps interspersed with hazy handy-cam images; some of the first images emerging from earthquake-ravaged Haiti.

Being far removed from the immediate scenes of loss, we might have been padded from the raw pathos of encountering the irretrievable presence of a loved one. We dust up memories to try and re-animate that blank spaces left behind. Remembrances only conjure up fleeting apparitions that merely dissipate like the trace of breath on a mirror. What audacity to ask of death, “where is thy sting?”