Funerals

During my first experience in Haiti, funerals occurred nearly daily during our morning liturgy at the little chapel on the grounds of St. Damien Hospital.  Despite the reality that I have attended so many Haitian funerals, and witnessed many grieving families, I still find funerals here to be quite difficult, (not that funerals anywhere are ever easy; they're not.)

The mother of one of the Holy Cross postulants, died a couple of weeks ago.  Fortunately the postulant was on vacation and with her mom at the time.  Last Thursday was the funeral.  A pickup truck and a jeep both filled with  sisters set out early in the morning, we could not take the minibus because the condition of the roads.  Shortly before we arrived we pulled over on the side of the unpaved road put the food we had brought with us on the open tailgate of pickup and ate our main meal (does this qualify as a tailgating party?)

We arrived at the family's yard a few hours before the funeral would start so that we could be present to the family.  We greeted everyone and expressed our condolences.  The postulant seemed so sad.  My heart was filled with compassion for her. She is only in her early twenties and is already parent less.   We sat on  chairs in the yard between two very simple cement homes on either end a cinder block wall on one side and a fence consisting mostly of corrugated metal on the other.  At times people were silent, at other times family members of the deceased wept, or called out loudly expressing their grief.  Someone fainted.

When it was a few minutes past the hour the funeral was scheduled to begin we boarded our vehicles allowing relatives to ride in the back of the truck.

The funeral was held at what appeared to be a community center, not a church.  When we entered the building I heard a lot of noise.  The coffin was still open for viewing and there were people crowded around it.  There was a lot of loud crying and yelling.  People close to the deceased were expressing their grief with their whole bodies.  I sat in the back row, but only for a  couple of my minutes because I decided to move after a bereft young man unintentionally hit the back of the metal folding chair causing it to move an inch or so.  The preacher tried to encourage everyone to quiet down and be still so that the service could start.  There was a program on paper, an itinerary which included two songs that the Sisters of Holy Cross were going to sing, but the presider never called upon them so they did not sing.  The postulant at some point went to the front and spoke lovingly of her mother, I heard a little of what was said after I explained  to the screaming woman next to me that I had come for the postulant but that I could not hear her because of the screams.  When the preacher spoke I decided to make a concerted effort to listen thinking this might be preferable.  I could only hear for a few minutes during a lull  but was equally uncomfortable hearing about Satan, the devil, and judgment.  I thought if someone were to preach this homily at the funeral of a very close family member of mine I would not be consoled and maybe I'd feel like screaming too.

The cultural differences in how some of people express their grief here do in all honesty cause me to feel somewhat uncomfortable at times even while I respect that this is simply a cultural difference and I at some level do appreciate that.  There may be advantages to expressing one's grief in this way; I have no right or reason to judge it.

There is another major reason why funerals here cause me even greater discomfort.  I can not help but wonder if the deceased would have died if the person had access to the kind of health care and other privileges I have access to.  I have no major health problems and consider myself to be in relatively good shape however during the next several weeks while in the US I have routine checkups scheduled with my primary care physician, gynecologist, and dermatologist as well as my yearly dental appointment.  Preventive care is not something the average person in Haiti has access to.  It is well documented that poverty with all its stressors places people at greater risk for many  health problems, the very people who have the fewest resources to resolve them.    This should probably should cause us all  some discomfort.

On Saturday morning I boarded a bus to PortauPrince and spent the weekend visiting children and workers at Kay St. Anne and other friends at NPH.    Most of the children who I knew five years ago are no longer there, some have been reunited with relatives and others now reside at the large orphanage in Kenscoff.  I was happy to see three of the children who have disabilities who were at St. Anne when I worked there. It brings me great joy to see two boys who did not walk independently when I was there who can run and dance now.  I enjoyed chatting with a coupled of employees.  The volunteers now live in what is called, "the villas";this is where I stayed.  In many ways it is more comfortable than the tents and prefabricated housing of the post-earthquake volunteer era.  The international flavor still exists.  There was a large group of  short-term Italian volunteers, they were so generous that they included everyone staying there to eat the authentic eggplant Parmesan they prepared for a late Saturday night supper.  The volunteer I stayed with who I did not know happens to live in New Orleans, we plan to meet for coffee (or tea) in a couple of weeks.

After visiting the children on Sunday morning I went out to lunch with two friends, one an American sister, the other a woman close to my own age from Ireland, and we met another American woman who I had not previously known. It was wonderful to visit with them.  We even swam in the hotel pool.  That evening there was liturgy in the hospital chapel.   The mass flowed between English and Creole with some songs in Italian and French.

On Monday morning I attended the liturgy there as well. Before it began I stood for a moment on the side of the chapel, in front of the simple wooden cross that marks the spot where little Katiana is buried, sadly recalling the most difficult Haitian funeral that I personally have experienced.  When I entered the chapel there were three small coffins on the floor containing the bodies of children and babies who died at the pediatric hospital over the weekend.




I returned to Cap-Haitian yesterday.  By the end of the week I will be in New Orleans.  I look forward to seeing many of you soon.  Take care.  Many blessings!