Content Warning: this piece contains strong language and references to death and suicide. Names and some details have been changed to protect privacy.
The rain is coming down hard on this cool autumn day, watering the perfectly landscaped, vibrant fluorescent green grass and the matching rows of poofball bushes that decorate the half-mile estate. Sitting on top of the hill is a giant colorful two-story mansion. The rooftop has salmon pink tiles, and the rest is painted teal with orange trim. The dark clouds hovering above the mansion make it look like a scary funhouse. Happy, vibrant colors for such a sad, dark place.
Me and Zee park the Town & Country minivan in the back row of the parking lot. We hide behind tinted its windows, listening to Hip Hop, and watch everybody get out of their cars. They hold black umbrellas and run towards the funeral home.
“You got the letter and picture ready?” I ask.
“John!” says Zee. “Of course I do. Now, let's go.”
She grabs a dark gray scarf from the driver's seat and wraps it around her head like a melancholy Virgin Mary, then she leaves the car to unload me and my power wheelchair.
When I’d spoken with Mai's daughter on the phone, she asked me if I wanted to bring anything to be buried with her as part of Buddhist tradition. So I wrote a heartfelt letter to Mai in a purple font to match her favorite color, telling her how much I will miss her. I also chose a glossy picture of me and Bootsy. Now we're here at her memorial service, about to get together with her family that I barely know. Zee is kind enough to bring me here, to help me say my final goodbyes. She's used to going to these functions and always attends the service when someone from her church Community dies – but I try to avoid them like the plague.
I may not be used to going to memorials, but attending Mai’s service is the least I can do for someone who cared me for three years as an in-home caregiver. I saw her every other day. We became friends and companions. I became her therapist, and I loved her like a sister. She got Covid, wasn't vaccinated, and died two weeks later after being put on a ventilator. Her daughter pulled the plug because she was suffering.
God damn pandemic!
I unload out of the van in my wheelchair and cruise through the parking lot as fast as can so I can get out of the rain. I park myself under the pink roof of the giant warehouse that sits beside the mansion.
“You know my friend’s body is in this building,” says Zee. “Waiting to be shipped back to Africa to be buried in Eritrea. But because of Covid things are on a delay.”
“Jesus Christ, Zee. That's kind of screwed up. So this is the morgue, huh? I wonder how many dead bodies are in there?”
“Oh hush up, John. Nobody talkin about bodies.” She shows me what she’s carrying. “I brought the bag with the rest of Mai’s stuff and some of her mail she left on the table.”
“Okay, Zee. I don't know what this is going to be like. She didn’t really get along with her family. I just want to go inside drop this stuff off. And maybe talk to the daughter…”
“You need to sit through the memorial.” Zee pats her hand on my shoulder, comforting me. “It will help you heal. This is really what's best for you right now.” We head up the ramp with its dark green domed awning, making it seem like we're going through a dark creepy tunnel. As we exit, we're on the wrap-around porch and the view is spectacular. Like being on top of a mountain looking deep into a valley. The lush green landscape and mist rainbows appear when the sun breaks through the clouds. Suddenly a murder of crows flies down onto the sun patch on the lawn, looking for food.
“Welcome,” a staff member greets us and opens the large glass multi-paned sliding front door.
Inside there are two rows of pews six deep on each side like a small church. The lights in the room are dim with some natural light creeping through the stained-glass windows lining the side wall. In the back left corner behind the first row a wreath of pink carnations hangs up on a wire tripod. A pretty, homemade glittered sign says: “Goodbye Mai.”
There are women in black dresses in the conference room, sitting in pearl white plush armchairs. Smiling, laughing, and forgetting Mai. Next to that room, toward the front of the Church is an open kitchenette with a wood paneled floor. I decide it is a perfect place to situate ourselves.
“Come on Zee, over here.” I nod my head towards the front. The counters have a coffee and tea station, two dozen donuts, and Mumbai Vietnamese sandwiches. Those were Mai’s favorites. She would bring them to me all the time as a special treat.
In front of the church, a makeshift temple has been set up on a beautiful eighteenth-century polished wood table. On top, a giant golden-robed Buddha statue is sporting a colorful Hawaiian lei and laughing his ass off. He's surrounded by lit incense and lit tea candles.
People have already placed some offerings around the Buddha, which include Mai’s favorite jewelry, some sticky rice, and her favorite steam pot. All of which will go with her to the afterlife when everything is over.
On the ceiling above the temple there's a sixty-inch flat screen playing a slideshow of Mai’s favorite memories. Scenes of when her daughter was born and when she graduated from the University of Washington, and of when Mai met the Buddhist monks at the temple in Thailand.
The closed mahogany wood casket sits behind the temple on top of a metal cart. Placed on the casket are more voluptuous bouquets and a colorful traditional silk blanket draped over top. So beautiful, but creepy at the same time. Everybody starts to gather slowly, filling up the first couple pews on each side.
“Hello, John. Thanks for coming,” one of the women in black dresses says to us. “I’m Tai. Mai's daughter, we spoke on the phone.”
“Hey,” I say, “I can't believe this happened to her. So fast. So sudden. I'm sorry for the loss.”
“Thank you. How are you doing? I just don't know how you put up with her, but I know you guys were close.”
“She was a unique individual. I will miss her for sure.”
“I read your letter you emailed me. It was very sweet.”
“That’s great. I was hoping you'd read it. Hey, I brought some of her stuff she left at my house. I got some of her mail too. I think there's some stuff from the IRS.”
“The IRS! Ha! Good luck finding her now. She's dead! Hang tight. We'll be starting shortly, so glad you came.” She left in a hurry, after throwing the bag we’d brought for her on the wood floor in front of the sandwiches.
“John,” Zee whispers.
“What?”
“I forgot the photo and the letter.”
“God damn it, Zee!”
“Sorry. I thought I put it in the bag. They’re still in the van.”
“What the hell? I wanted that shit to be buried with her.” I pause, because the room has gone quiet. “Hush up now, her ceremony is going to start.”
Tai goes up to the podium next to the temple, in front of a stained-glass window that gives her a warm glow like an angel. She begins reading her own letter with crocodile tears, but they quickly stop as soon as she begins. Telling everybody she wished she kept in contact with her mom over the past couple years. How supportive she had been over the years, and describes how she stood by her side holding, her hand, when she died.
Then she just stops, looks around at everyone, including me, and desperately begs for forgiveness. I began to cry because I remember hearing Mai on the phone, pleading for a card from Tai for her birthday. I felt so bad for Mai and Tai in that moment.
When she finishes the eulogy, the second part of the ceremony begins. Everybody in the front two pews start getting up one by one. They go to the Golden Buddha temple to drop off more offerings and to light a candle in her memory. Then they each bow down low to say their final goodbye and go back to their seats. Zee walks up for us without my offerings, but lights a candle anyway. I bow my head with her.
When we finish, a monk comes out from the back and starts clearing space between the pews and the temple. He pulls out a multicolored kaleidoscope blanket from behind the podium and lays it on the floor. He starts calling everyone up for final prayers. Me and Zee take this opportunity to leave the service to get the offerings from the van. We grab a couple Mumbai sandwiches and a few donuts, and then we leave out the front door. This won’t take long.
After getting down the tunnel ramp ride, I'm furious. I start freaking out. “Did you see that shit! It's like she didn't even care about Mai! She's dead! I felt like I was the only one there that even loved her. Like…like…like there was no love, and no loss. I can't believe that just happened.” I take a deep breath. “Oh well. I see how it is now.”
“I know, John J. It was r-rrrrdiculous. Verrrry So ashamed. I'll be right back.”
I go down to the corner of the morgue while I wait for Zee to retrieve my offerings from the van. Looking across the parking lot past all the cars there's a large garage with an incinerator inside. The garage is big enough to fit the black and red detailed hearse parked outside. Sticking out of the top is a fire-stained smokestack blowing gray body smoke.
“I grabbed your letter and photo, plus your umbrella,” she tells me when she gets back.
“Thanks.”
“John, I can't go down there. I can't watch that happening. It's against my religion!”
“Okay, okay. Can you at least take me down there? I want to see what happens. Plus, this is what she wanted and maybe this will help me let her go.”
“Fine.”
After a half-hour, we see everybody – and her casket – come out the front door. As the casket passes by us, Zee gets the dark green umbrella ready and we follow the crowd slowly across the parking lot to the giant teal garage. Everyone's holding their offerings, but nobody is really crying or seems upset. I'm so confused.
I go to the back of the incinerator garage. Zee hands Tai my offerings, then jogs through the rain back to the van. I see Tai put my letter and glossy on the metal cart. The eagle has finally landed! I hope Mai reads my letter first thing.
***
(The First Offering - The Letter)
Sweet, sweet Mai,
I am going to miss you so much. You're like one of my moms and one of my best friends. I will never forget you. You were always so loving and caring. I mean you were always a little bit crazy and cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs, but that's what makes you so special.
Your favorite songs were. “More Than I Can Say” by Leo Sayer, and a song you made up called “Thad Thing-Thing”. During the first song, you would always pick up Bootsy and make her hug your neck while you spun around and danced with her. When the song was over, you would give her a thousand kisses and call her your other daughter.
For the second song you would clap your hands and stomp your feet while you sang. “Thad thing-thing, thad thing-thing” encouraging me to sing and dance with you.
Your cooking was delicious and, just like your fashion style, very unique. The recipes you came up with kept me guessing what's next, but the food was tasty. Sometimes it felt like I was eating in a four-star restaurant because you always put a lot of thought and love in your recipes. I will miss your walnut sticky rice with coconut milk most of all. Also your corn mushroom omelet was divine.
Finally, your fashion style was always over the top. You dyed your hair funky colors and wore colorful scrubs with a u-dub hat and pink or camouflage stretchy pants. Only you could pull off an outfit like that.
I will not miss your screaming, yelling, and tantrums. However, I forgive you for anything you might have said or done to insult me.
Wherever you may go, I hope you are happier than ever. I will miss seeing you and all your loving and caring nature. There will be no one else like you.
Goodbye, sweet Mai.
From Father John and daughter Bootsy
***
At the back of the incinerator garage, I feel as if I am in a horror movie with all the sharp body hooks and chainsaws hanging up on the walls. The flaming hot fire is making a rumbling sound as it gets hotter and hotter ready to burn. The rest of the group is standing around the casket which is by the incinerator door now.
Everyone puts their offerings on top of the metal table next to the casket, but no one shows remorse. They just bow their heads. The sexton pushes a button, and the thick metal door slowly opens automatically, exposing the flames even more. He carefully moves the casket vertically so it can fit through the flaming door and begins to push the casket into the flames. Looking over at Tai, I finally see her genuinely cry. Her mom is gone.
First all the flowers and the offerings are engulfed in a big amazing fire ball. I can see my face and Bootsy burn up. The sexton pushes the casket all the way in, and the flames grow larger, swallowing the casket whole like a python. The thick metal door slowly and automatically closes, and then we all wait uncomfortably for her body to burn.
***
I have a flashback.
“What's wrong, Mai?” I asked her one day. “I can see you're crying.”
“My awful sister and fat husband kicked me out! I'm homeless! I don't know what to do!” she said, sobbing.
“It's okay, Mai. I'm sure you'll find a place soon. You always do,” I calmly told her.
“John, you don't understand. Nobody cares about me! I have no friends besides my uncle in Thailand. I clean up stinky shit for my job. My daughter won't talk to me! I want to kill myself! Commit suicide!” She cried even harder.
“Whoa! Don't say that, Mai! People care about you. I care about you. I'm your friend and always will be. Besides, you can't just say that. People that say they wanna commit suicide or die usually go talk to a shrink.”
“What's that?”
“A Psychologist. Like my mama, Joan.”
“I don't want to talk to a useless doctor! You're crazy! I lost my health insurance.”
“Well, can you please settle down. Stop crying. I'm your friend. I love you. I promise I always will be your friend. Is there anything I can do to cheer you up?”
“No!”
“How about I say a prayer for everything to get better?”
“Oh, yes, yes. Yes, Father John! I know that will work.” She smiled and started to clap.
“Okay, ready? Close your eyes. Jesus. God. Please help Mai get through the tough times. That she finds a new apartment with nicer roommates that don't steal food. That it has lower utility bills and maybe a cat to play with. Please give her brighter days ahead. Thank you, Lord Jesus. Thanks be to God.”
“Amen,” we said together.
“Thanks, Father John. Now I know everything will get better.”
I had no idea why she always had me pray to a Catholic God when she was Buddhist. I knew her long enough to know “Father John” was a trigger that would calm her down.
***
The heavy door slowly opens again when the cremation is over. With a yellow metal hand broom, the sexton sweeps Mai’s ashes into a purple and gold urn. He hands the urn to Tai, who runs it back to the funeral home. Just then the clouds clear and the sun comes out.
I am leaving the garage when another woman in a short black dress with high heels comes up to me. “Hi! I'm Lai,” she says, “Mai’s sister. You must be John. I've heard so much about you. Thank you so much for coming.”
“Yes, yes. I will miss her. That was a beautiful ceremony. My first cremation.”
“This is my husband, Bob.”
Bob is next to her, slouched over in a second-hand Armani suit and a button-down red plaid shirt. Gut hanging over his belt, pulling his loose-fitting khakis up.
“Hey, Bob,” I say. “I think Mai mentioned you guys to me. Didn't she live with you guys for a minute?”
Lai abruptly interrupts me. “She told you about us? Oh my God. What did she say? She probably talked shit, didn't she?” She turns around and starts clip-clapping towards the mansion.
“Sorry about that, John,” says Bob. “She's a little bit on the edge. This has been a little difficult for her.”
“No problem. I understand. Hey, I wanted to ask you. Did Mai ever see a doctor? Did she have any underlining conditions?”
“I know she was seeing some holistic doctor for prescriptions, but yeah, I think she had underlying conditions.”
“I had a feeling. Okay, well it was nice to meet you. I'm going to head back to the van.”
On the way back to the van I have a smile on my face. The whole experience of being at this crazy death funhouse makes me feel much better. Just knowing that Mai will have a brand-new life with all our offerings to get her started, at least according to her Buddhist beliefs, makes me keep my chin up.
In my heart I know we left on good terms, unlike her family. Mai loved being an in-house nurse essential worker for me, and she gave me her all every day. Yeah, she could be stubborn and complain about cleaning my doodoo sometimes, but man, she was one of the best caregivers I ever had. And she could make a mean sticky rice. I'll miss you, sweet Mai.
Author: John Mistur
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