LIVEALITTLE

The death of a parent must be painful for any family. Today I attended a Haitian funeral for a friend's father today. To prepare, I was to make sure I wore no red on my person as red would mark the murderer of the deceased. As I did not want to be designated as such especially for someone I didn't know, in the morning of, I did a full survey and realized my sneakers contained large segments of red. My only other available footwear were my flipflops (which are brown) but then I realized my toenails were painted red. In desperation, I took a black marker and blackened my toes. I think my ploy was quite effective as I still remain alive.
The funeral was held in a church and consisted of religious readings, a recited biography of the deceased, audience singing and individual singing. There was a bit of wailing from the wife of the deceased which tore at my heart. And it makes me wonder how horrible and difficult it must have been during the night of the earthquake. I teared immediately when my friend's sister's voiced cracked from sorrow in the middle of her song. Worse, the mixture of my tears with the sunblock on my face further aggrevated my eyes resulting to even more tears. They must have thought I was freak blanc. The coffin was then taken to a public cemetery, placed into a vault and sealed with cement blocks. I found it curious that no plaque is placed indicating the deceased name. The family would just have to remember the location. Afterwards, alcohol was poured onto my hands for cleaning prior to entry into my friend's home to symbolize cleansing of the old and starting anew. Interesting concept. It was nice to be around Haitians who were in the spirit of the future and moving on.