Grace To Carry On

"But I can see the sunshine's rays
Gleaming through the clear waters
Telling me you gotta hop in for this chapter's ride
For there will always be better days
There will always be better days"
 - Library Magic, by The Head And The Heart 


It was the seventh funeral I've attended in Ecuador since arriving 4.5 years ago, not counting my Grandmother's in the States. Doesn't that number feel high?


Thursday:

My alarm went off at 7:00am. I slipped on my glasses, and saw I had a voice message through WhatsApp. The message came in two hours earlier: there had been a death. The older brother of three of the Casa Gabriel boys had been murdered.

I rushed quickly through the normal motions of showering, dressing, and making coffee to-go before heading out the door at 7:50. It was Phil, the director, who had messaged me. A team was visiting Casa Gabriel that morning for an hour, and since Phil had been up all night with the family, I was suddenly in charge of standing in front of the team and telling them about the ministries here. I smiled and talked animatedly to the team seated in the Casa Gabriel living room, while the hazy details of what had happened filtered through my mind. The brother, Jose, was 27. He'd been found in his home, stabbed to death and left without any current explanation. The family had discovered him the night before. Around 3:00am, Phil took two of the younger siblings home with him so that they didn't have to be there when the body was removed.

As I set up before the team arrived, the other boys in the home came downstairs slowly, yawning after being woken the night before by phone calls and weeping.
"Como estas?" Dario asked, casually.
"Aqui," I answered. ("Here").
He looked me in the eyes and nodded.
"Si. Si."
The exchange played out the same when I greeted Daniel. The boys needed to see if I knew, which seemed to give them permission to admit that things were not okay.

As the team was getting ready to leave, two of the guys whose brother had died arrived at the house. Joel lives there full-time, while Jesus graduated several years ago and now helps out on weekends. I hugged each of them, none of us saying a word, before they headed upstairs to their rooms. Soon, however, Joel came back downstairs in his school uniform: he is studying for his final exams which will determine if he can graduate high school this year or not, and cannot miss them.


Saturday:

The boys and I piled into Phil's car to drive to the funeral. We drove further and further south, into the poorer part of Quito. When we arrived and walked up to the funeral home, the sound of wailing hit my ears, mixed with the sound of music. The funeral home was simple: a low-ceilinged room set up with chairs facing a slightly raised part on which the casket was placed, and a side room, all windows, in which the available casket options were easily viewed. Around the casket were floral arrangements, electric candelabras in bright gold, and a large crucifix. To one side, some musicians played hymns. Propped against the casket was Jose's skateboard, as he had loved the sport and spent plenty of free time at a local park.

I had met the mother and one sister on a number of occasions and hugged each of them before taking a seat. At the front, Joel spent a long time in front of the casket, staring down at his brother. He stared and stared and my heart broke at how this was the last way he'd ever see his brother.

After the service we drove to the gravesite. Wind whipped around us as we walked to the site. The graveyard was surprising beautiful, all rolling green fields and a rich view of the city and mountains. As the casket was lowered into the grave, one of the sisters began to scream.
"My brother, my brother, I can't, oh why God, why!" she wailed, falling to her knees. A friend and I clutched each other's arms, tears rolling down our cheeks. The graveyard workers began to shovel dirt onto the casket from the freshly-made mound, when the family and friends stepped in and took the shovels from them. Backs bent, they shoveled and shoveled, finding a cathartic release in being able to do something, a sense of closure as the casket slowly disappeared from sight, six feet down.


Sunday:

I expected a continuation of grief, honestly. Yet instead of the sadness and confusion boiling over, it released. When I arrived at the house before church that morning, everyone was a little giddy. Joel and David teased me for having to remind myself that in Spanish, there is only one word for both cookies and crackers. Daniel likes to try and scare me by sneaking up and yelling my name, and though normally I shake my head at him, that morning after he startled me I turned and hurled myself at him. He fled and I gave chase, tearing after him through the house until Phil caught him and I tickled him, everyone laughing and laughing. That afternoon we all crowded around the television to watch the World Cup match: Columbia versus Poland. (We rooted all for the South American team, of course). As Columbia made three gorgeous goals, we jumped and clapped and cheered. I was sitting on the floor and had slipped off my sandals, and when I wasn't looking Joel hid one of them.
"Sonnet, where's your other shoe?" he tried to ask with innocence, a mischievous grin wreathing his face.

It was so good to see him smile. It was so good to see him be able to laugh and joke and cheer and not feel as though he had to wear a mantle of sadness. Of course, there will still be hard days, this week and this month and years from now. There will be anger mixed with the grief, and questions which may never be answered: Why did his brother have to die? Why would someone kill him? Painful answers, circling around. I pray for peace for Joel and his family. I pray that Joel continues to know he is in a safe space with people who love him where he can ask questions, be angry, be heartbroken, and also continue on with life. Sometimes, I think there can be guilt associated with feeling happy after something tragic has happened, as though we are responsible to mourn for a specific period of time. Thus I'm so happy that Joel cheered during the World Cup and hid my shoe as though it were any other day. He is already carrying the stress of studying for his exams and trying to figure out life after high school. There are always hard days. Yet there is also grace. Laughter can be wedged in between tears, and it can be good. Whether in this life or in eternity, there will be better days.