***** Vol.2 Chap.10 Recalling her parents’ funeral march *****
After transferring to another bus, the memory of her parents’ funeral again flooded May-Ling.
…
The dirge was slow and sad. Each note was long, unsteady, and drawn out. Every tone was a minor chord, and every chord rose and fell like the rising and ebbing of the waves. Every note of music tucked and pulled at her heart. There was a question in each bar of music, yearning and asking for a reason. Why? Why? Why? She did not know why, neither did all the surrounding people. The dirge went on and on and on. With each note, something in her heart dissolved and disappeared. With each chord, a little more of her life was taken away. There were no laughs, only sobs. There were no answers, only questions. There was no happiness in the air, only sadness. There was no joy, only disappointment. There was no satisfaction, only bewilderment. She tried to look around, but saw nothing. Her eyes were red and swollen. She could not focus on her surroundings. Everything was a blur to her at this point.
She was walking next to her grandfather, whom she affectionately called Grandpapa. She was barely twelve years old, though old enough to feel the sadness and the loss, but too young to understand what had happened and too naïve to comprehend her dire predicament.
She held on tightly to his hands and would not let go. She squeezed hard on his hands, to reassure herself that he was there and would squeeze again to make sure that he was still there. He was the only one in this world that cared about her, the only one that she had presently. Now and then, she would squeeze his hands again and he would squeeze back as if to reassure her he was still here for her. He would not abandon her. He may be old, he may be slow, but he would always be there for her. Still, the emptiness within her could not be filled, regardless of how much her Grandpapa was holding on to her. Something within her had been taken from her with no warning and without reason.
It was a long procession. her Grandpapa and her was following two caskets bearing her beloved father’s and her adored mother’s bodies. She walked on mechanically with no feelings. All her feelings were gone, drained, taken away along with her livelihood, her hope, and the core of her very being. She had no more tears, having cried for two straight days already. Now her eyes were red and swollen. She had eaten nothing for the last four days and could not remember even if she had drunk any water at all either. She looked, but saw nothing. Everything in this world had become a blur. She could not see through the fog. She was completely lost and alone.
The dirge was getting longer as it repeated itself over and over again. She walked on step by step. Next to her, her Grandpapa was aged but still strong. He was holding her hand. The two walked on in unison, in silence. Words were inadequate, insufficient, useless, cold, and inappropriate. Words were not comforting enough and could not turn the clock back, nor bring her parents back to her again. A squeeze in her hand, the warmth of a steady hand meant so much more to her at this point. She needed comprehension, but none was available, only the kind support of her Grandpapa. She needed resolution, but none was found; only sympathy was given. She needed strength, but strength had escaped her; only her Grandpapa’s hands had carried her along up to this point.
There was an immense sense of loss, a loss cutting deeply into her heart because she knew the loss could never be replaced. Nothing could replace her father and her mother. Nothing could bring them back again. What was lost was permanently lost. Her world had been utterly shattered, broken into pieces. Her world as she had known for twelve years, twelve happy years, was gone. Nothing could ever piece the shards back together. Her former life was over in a flash.
A new life was about to begin, ready to not. She knew she had to go on. She would go on. There was a deep sense within her that this was not the end, but the beginning. But why must a new beginning have to be so difficult? Her father’s dying words were ringing in her ears. She did not understand her father’s words. They were very confusing to her. In fact, everything was very confusing to her.
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Behind them were some distant relatives and friends of the family. Her father was an only child, and she was also an only child. This was not the age of a large family. Because of the overpopulation in the country, each family could only have a single child. While the policy of her country was effective in reducing the overall population in the country, from her standpoint, the policy also meant that she had no immediate family to rely upon. She was totally bereft of companionship and support. No one was left except her Grandpapa. She squeezed tightly on his hands and he squeezed back reassuringly.
The procession had started at the front door of the temple where Mayling and her family had frequented whenever they had time. While they could not make it to the temple every day, not even once a week, her father always came and visit the temple during special festivals and at other times whenever any of the priests was sick. Her father would never charge the priest anything, not for the visit, and certainly not for the medicine. In fact, she herself had come to the temple on many occasions delivering the medicine in the past year. Many people had already gathered outside the temple since the morning. Even though it was early fall, there was already a tiny wind blowing from the north causing a slight chill in the air. The early morning fog was thick, the air was humid and laden with a slight drizzle, and the people huddled together near the shrine entrance. The atmosphere was somber, sad, and solemn. She heard many people mumbling that even the sky was crying for her parents. Heaven was weeping because a good couple was lost to the world. She hung close to her Grandpapa while he made the final preparations.
The priest in charge came out of the temple and walked over to the Bell Tower. He struck the bell twice with a heavy wooden hammer. The sound was deep, and it reverberated for a long time in the air. The sound reverberated longer in her heart. She heard the bell ringing for a long while after the priest had returned to the temple. The sound had struck an empty chord in her heart. The chord echoed back setting up a reverberation. Where her heart before was filled with warmth and love and happiness when her parents were here, now it was iciness and emptiness and sadness. The sound of the bell reverberated in the vast emptiness inside of her searching for a response, but none was found. There were images of happiness with her parents from years ago. She remembered running around the bushes when she was young, her father telling her not to run, falling on one of the stone steps, crying out aloud, and her parents rushing over to carry her back to the house because she refused to walk on her feet. She took a deep breath. The air was chilly. She shuddered.
Her Grandpapa came out and took her into the temple. It was a simple ceremony. The priest began with a few words about her parents, how they were a long-time resident of the town, how they had been respected by the community, how so many had been helped by them, how they were always moral, upright, and devout serving as a shining star for the community. The priest blessed their passing on to the next phase and told the small gathering that there would be two new stars in the heavens. Next the priest gave instructions to the porters to put the two wooden coffins into the cart. They also placed two recent portraits of her parents in front of the cart and the procession started at the front of the temple. It was customary to carry the deceased back to their work place and then to their home before proceeding to the cemetery. This signified a return home for the spirit of the deceased.
The porters who pushed the cart with the portraits and the coffin went first. She and her Grandpapa followed with several priests around. A few amateur musicians followed with their instruments, followed by any relatives and family members. After them, many people that her parents had helped followed. The town folks had taken the time to come out. They braved the wind and the chill to pay their last respect to their neighborhood friend, doctor, and pharmacist. She recognized some of them but was too young to recognize many of them. She was grateful they came. The temple was set on a small hill, so the whole procession wound its way down the hill into town and getting longer and longer when entering town. But she had lost count a long time ago. She mindlessly walked on and on and on. She felt safe to be walking next to her Grandpapa.
The procession turned the corner into a familiar street and had arrived at the street where her parents used to work. The procession wound its way to the front of the clinic and paused. Many in the procession paid their last respect to the one who had so many times helped them before. She stood there looking at the clinic. The memories of the clinic flooded her consciousness like an avalanche and she had to slap herself to shut the mental gate that was opened by the mere sight of the clinic.