Colorful Monuments
One afternoon in Guatemala I stood on top of a home looking out across the hills and mountains. Directly below me the steep dirt road descended deeper into the valley. A procession of people climbed the hill past me in a loose line. In the center of the group, four men carried a small casket blanketed with white flowers. The casket appeared to be the size for an infant. I could not tell to whom this child belonged. The stream of people all looked the same. Many of the passersby waved to me as if they were on a trip to the market or going to see a friend.
I could not bring myself to take a picture of the procession. First, because I thought it was inappropriate and may not be appreciated by the mourners. Second, and more important, I was overwhelmed with the sadness of the event. I thought of my own children and what it would be like to loose one of them. I thought of the grief the young mother and father must be experiencing. I thought of the hard life these people endure and the constant threat of death. One of the women who came to our clinic told the interpreter that she had had seven children, but only two survived. Death is a very real part of every one’s life. We cannot escape it. For some in our world, however, it is a constant. The mourning never ceases. How does one deal with continued loss?
I was struck with the nonchalant attitude of the procession, the waving mourners, the seeming acceptance of death as a reality. In Guatemala, a bow is placed on a home’s exterior wall when someone dies–black, yellow, or white, depending on the age and sex of the deceased. Many homes displayed bows of sorrow. In the cities, the dead are buried in colorfully adorned cemeteries–almost festive in their attire. I was drawn to these burial places where families erected colorful monuments to the dead. I found myself wanting the opportunity to wander among them and to build colorful monuments to that which I have lost as well. It seems to be a good way to deal with what we’ve lost.
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