Day 280 Fly

We drive through pouring rain between streaks of sunlight: it's a weird weather day in Miami.

The hearse is parked outside the church, the men from the funeral home standing at the trunk, my aunt's male relatives standing behind it, poised to carry it in. The Baby and I walk through the church entrance, greeting the dozen women of the family before taking up seats in the back part of the pews.


Unlike yesterday, there are less people and the mass is being presided over by a Hispanic priest rather than our usual Filipino one. When the mass begins, they bring in her coffin, closed this time, flanked on all sides by the men. As they bring her down the aisle to rest in front of the altar, I start to zone out. Even though at least 10 babies have died on my unit since I've started working there this year, and even though I prepared one of those babies for an autopsy myself, the concept of death had been so foreign to me over the years, even as uncles died. This death, this all-encompassing event and the repercussions it carried with it to the people involved felt more real than that of the week-old infant I swaddled in death a few months ago. Because, unlike that death, I knew how this woman had lived, how her family had lived and this one actually broke my heart a bit. 


When the mass ended and her son finished speaking without breaking down at the podium, the pallbearers stood at her coffin once more, carrying her away. It was then that a dozen of the women raised their arms and waved. It was a simple motion but for some reason it struck me very deeply: friends waving good bye. And I might've cried a little.

As her coffin passed our aisle, the Baby and I followed behind the family trailing it. We paused at the entrance, for what reason, I don't know. But people took pictures and, even though I would've done the same if I had my camera at hand, there was a part of me sickened with the idea that this was something that needed to be remembered and documented. I thought, "It's not like we're ever going to forget this..."


We followed the coffin and the entourage to the front with Kai between us. The women of the family start passing out little purple papers and I steal one from my Dad asking what it is. All he tells me is, "Open it and let them fly."


A minute later, I do,

Even though we make small jokes as, "Of course mine would be the sole butterfly who didn't want to fly," I can't help but think it's appropriate, because maybe he doesn't want to leave just yet either...