For C, J and O

Today marks the longest I’ve spent outside my house since April. Last week, my friend C texted me with the heartbreaking news that his mother had passed away after a prolonged illness.

Yesterday, I attended the wake at a small baptist church located in a quiet side of town. It had been a long time since I’d last seen C, and for someone usually so cheerful, I felt a pang of anguish with the sadness that overwhelmed him watching him where he sat in the front row with his siblings. We met for a brief moment a little before the end of the service and exchange light pleasantries before he was absorbed into the greetings of families and condolences of other sympathizers.

Today was the burial. It began with a morning service at the same church where i arrived shortly after the opening prayers. The atmosphere in the church was solemn, we said prayers, sang hymns, sighed in our collective loss & condoled with one another and listened to the priest preach about holding on to faith and the promises of resurrection. The service ended with a benediction and hymnals as the coffin was transported to a waiting truck to be taken to the cemetery.

A little before noon, we travelled in C’s friend’s car for the final rite. The journey wasn’t straightforward—C couldn’t recall the cemetery’s name, and we lost our way twice, having to reroute each time.

At the cememtary, we made small talks about work, travel and family, and as the burial came to a close, I stood at a distance, watching C and his siblings say their final goodbyes. The weight of loss heavy in the air, and the quiet resilience of a family learning to lean on each other.

Driving back, I found myself reflecting on the fragility of time and the inevitability of these moments which is a constant thing we must all face. At home, I lay in my bed and reflected on how funerals are as much about those who remain as they are about those we lose—a reminder of the human connections and of life’s impermanence. A reminder also that in our shared grief, prayers, and hymns, there will always exist an undercurrent of hope that will be a testament to our human spirit’s ability to hold on, even in the face of loss.