Saturday, Sept. 19th. The annoying high pitched staccato bleeping of my little orange Casio alarm clock started in at 6 am - a gracious hour later than usual. I reached out and grabbed around to shut it off, hit the 'stop' on my CPAP machine, and pulled the awkward velcro-strap silicone nose-piece contraption off of my head. It was just past dawn, and Mina was still sound asleep. I'd leave her be for another hour, so I could gather myself, and go about my mundane morning toilet routine, unfettered. I got up, groped around on the tatami for my socks, and pulled the curtains aside just enough to survey the lay of the land. Not a soul. It had rained around midnight, but the dawn sky was clearing, and traces of the earliest morning sunshine were glinting off of a few small puddles at the foot of the courtyard's adventure playground slide. Aside from a few scattered, shallow bursts of chirping and 'click-clacking', it sounded like the summer's cicada's had largely played themselves out for another year.
As the 'weekend downpour' that the hapless boob weatherman on channel 6 had been promising for the last four or five days had apparently come and gone in the pre-dawn hours; it looked like it might actually shape up to be a decent enough Saturday, after all.
For all the good it would do us.
We'd be starting the day's 'anti-celebrations' with our usual sundry workday breakfast of toast and tea. Then I'd have to knock out my usual 9am private class. After that, we'd have to don the previous evening's black formalwear, and head straight back out to the very ceremony hall we'd just been at for today's main event - the 'funeral-proper'.
At least we had got to shower, and have a decent night's sleep. Mayumi and her crew would have been keeping vigil there all night. I don't know if they all stayed, or pulled shifts in rotation, and took turns napping. I imagine that her eldest son's young kids got to go home and sleep a bit. Exhausting stuff, either way.
Mayumi had informed Mina that they'd be having another pre-ceremony group meal at around 11am; but before she could suggest that we join, Mina told her that I had one early morning class that I couldn't cancel; so we wouldn't be able to get there until just before noon. It was getting tiresome having to continually excuse ourselves from eating with them. This would have been the third time in two days that we'd have had to decline - then repeat the whole song and danceroutine about 'pandemic safety', and 'the hazards of mixed group dining', while Mayumi listened patiently, and said that she 'understood'.
Whether she actually 'understood' or not, the fact of the matter was that she had just lost her husband, and was entitled to as much latitude as she wanted. All of these arrangements would finally be her call.
At the same time, whenever we had to excuse ourselves, I inevitably looked like the 'bad guy', and it was starting to wear me down.
Maybe I was being too finicky; but I had to go with my instincts. Over the years, I've learned the hard way to heed that nagging little voice in my head. When I haven't, I've almost always ended up eating shit.
We'd be sticking to our guns on this. We'd have to continue to excuse ourselves as respectfully as we could, and hope for the family's understanding.
From noon, there would be around two hours of proceedings at the hall, followed by a trip out to the Nagoya City Crematorium (each group going via their own private cars - thank god), at least a couple of more hours over there, then a trip back to the ceremony hall to wrap things up. Barring anything weird or unexpected, things would be likely to wrap between 5 and 6pm. Not soon enough for me.
Of course, this wouldn't be the end of it. According to Japanese Buddhist custom, there would be additional, follow-on ceremonies every 7 days (post the day of passing) until the 49th day, when the urn containing the deceased's ashes are typically interred, and the family's 'formal period of mourning' concludes.
That wouldn't be it, though. There would be another, slightly bigger ceremony on the 100th day.
Think it's over?
Nope.
Additional, more 'formal' follow-on services should also be held during Obon, usually on the 1st, 3rd, 5th, 7th and 13th anniversaries of the deceased's passing...in addition to any number of smaller, more informal ceremonies that may also be held up to either the 39th or 50th anniversary of the concerned party's demise. Of course these timelines can vary depending on the sect, region and families concerned. Some do slightly less - and others go all out.
As far as I've seen, most families arrange for small, more informal Obon season ceremonies every year. A priest will typically visit the deceased's family home, kneel in front of the house butsudan (altar), light some candles, ring a few bells, and chant a round of sutras. Everyone gathers around on the tatami, kneeling on cushions, and clutching at their juzu (prayer beads). Then there's some group sutra chanting from well worn prayer books, and after around 45 minutes, it's done. The priest dispenses with some obligatory niceties, hastily downs a cup of green tea, packs up his gear, accepts some small gifts of fresh fruit and sweets, collects his pay packet, and hits the road. During the height of Obon season, he'll likely do several of these small services every day.
Thirty-nine years is an awful long time to essentially expect the same core group to show up, and re-run a long deceased individual's funeral rites. A kid that was five years old at the first ceremony, would either be 44, or 56 at their final one. Assuming his or her parents were still living, they would likely be in their late sixties or seventies...or older. It's highly likely that the original priest would have passed, or be on his last legs.
Fifty years seems unthinkable. Who would be even be around? Or care? It's absurd.
I can't help but think of all of the age old, derelict stone memorial plots out at the countryside cemetery where Mina's family grave is located. It's a small, pastoral memorial space about a kilometre down the road (and just across the creek) from Okasan's house... set at the foot of a forested hillside, and nestled between lush, verdant green rice paddies. We all drive out there after the Obon ceremony for Mina's Dad, splash water on the granite family memorial, lay out some mochi rice cakes and sweets, light candles and incense, clutch our juzu prayer bead bracelets, and offer a short prayer.
The whole affair takes about fifteen minutes.
There might be a hundred memorial plots at this particular site. Thousands of small local cemeteries like this are scattered here and there, throughout rural Japan. Typically, the family graves are grouped together rather tightly, and consist of small granite structures, maybe two metres tall and a metre and a half around, set on narrow granite allotments. These stone structures bear the family's surname, and may or may not house urns containing an amount of ash and a number of bones selected from the cremated remains of the deceased. There are no paths in or out, and everything seems to be a massive jumble. Loose gravel fills the small areas between each of the family plots, and navigating in or out without inadvertently intruding on another memorial's allotted space is particularly challenging. We usually see maybe one other group come to tend to a family memorial while we're there.
Some of the stone structures appear ancient, and have long fallen into disrepair...while others that maybe aren't quite as old seem equally neglected and forgotten.
It's no secret that the populations of small villages like the one where Mina and Mayumi were raised in rural Shiga have been on the decline for decades. Every year it seems that there is yet another local house left derelict, as its last elderly occupant has either passed away, or been moved to a hospital or senior's facility. As younger family members relocate to larger cities after high school graduation, and the older generations take leave, memories of the deceased - and ultimately, the village itself - fade. Finally, life goes on - as if they'd never existed. All that remains are more darkened houses, and crumbling, moss encrusted stone out croppings at the cemetery...the long forgotten and eroded family names engraved into the stone markers no longer legible...or relevant.
While it's nice to remember the deceased, I can't help but view all of this a bit cynically. A massive amount of money is involved in the Buddhist business of 'keeping the flame burning' for deceased loved ones and family members. Once in the pipeline, bereaved families are essentially obliged to regularly continue conducting ceremonies and remitting cash to the priests or temples concerned, for decades on end. It's a highly lucrative business, that lines a lot of pockets. In true Japanese fashion, nobody questions it. It's custom. Status-quo. Just the way things are done.
But to what end?
I wrapped up my morning class at around 10:15, and Mina was puttering about, hanging the morning laundry in the bright sunshine on the front balcony. I brought the tea cups in from the spare room where I teach, washed them, and took up my mid-morning perch on the loo. Best to get all of the attendant 'bowel evacuating' sorted before suiting up, and heading out for our second round of 'anti-celebrations'. Truth be told, I didn't really see the point in even going. As far as I was concerned, the business of the previous evening had been more than enough.
We had paid our respects, and I had viewed the body - which I honestly wish I hadn't. I don't handle this kind of thing well. In my 'mind's eye', I kept seeing Mayumi's husband's lifeless face looking up through the casket's plexiglass window...drained, and ashen grey, a barely healed incision scar on his neck marking where the tracheostomy tube had been just a couple of weeks before.
It was disturbing... and wasn't the mental snapshot of him that I'd wanted to hold on to.
At least the casket had been closed, and he wasn't out in the open air. I still had some major reservations about how appropriate it was to even have the body there on display. His attending physician had given Mayumi the 'green light', and told her that a 'normal' funeral service would be permissible...but I had a real sense that, in terms of this disease, the medical establishment weren't really sure of what they were dealing with. What the vaunted 'experts' were saying was 'safe' today, may not be considered 'safe' at all next week. Advisories regarding protocols concerning the virus seem liable to change on a semi-regular basis, and even today, emerging data continues to paint an ever changing, and often more alarming picture of what we're dealing with. Given the deadly intensity of his illness, I didn't get why the doctor wouldn't have chosen to err on the side of caution, and recommend that the body be sent straight to the crematorium. Memorial services (albeit slightly truncated) could still have been conducted. It seemed reckless.
As much as I didn't want to go deal and with all of this again, there was no getting out of it.
In keeping with our apparent 'Silver Week' default theme of 'all things maudlin and grim', the morning's post-breakfast back and forth banter seemed to center on the less than sunny matters of our respective, and impending mortalities. No surprise, I suppose. In light of what had happened, it was inevitable that this open can of worms would present itself.
Like most relatively healthy people our age, we hadn't really taken much time to consider the unpleasant inevitability that one of us was going to slip off of this mortal coil before the other. The culmination of this summer's tragic awfulness had been a very rude awakening.
Needless to say, all of this had been very sudden for Mayumi, as well. While her husband's condition had been critical, none of us would admit to feeling any real sense that he might actually die. I think we were in denial. This type of thing happened to 'other people' - not to anyone close to us. Life is so full of startling twists and turns.
So...what next?
This is where the typical Japanese family's tenuous Buddhist ties and connections come in handy, and it's what the priests specialize in - their 'raison d'être', if you will. It's also where their money train pulls in. All the bereaved need to do is make a few phone calls, prepare the cash, and follow instructions. The priests and ceremony hall people handle the rest.
In an odd, somewhat chilling case of foreshadowing, Mayumi and her husband had actually discussed what he wanted to happen in terms of the family's (and his own) memorial services not long before the tragic events of the summer... so she had a reasonable idea of what his wishes were, and which priest to call.
In our case, the topic had never been broached.
While assumptions can never be a reliable foundation upon which even a tentative course of action can be cobbled together, Mina seems fairly confident that I'm going to die before she does. I hope she's right.
It seems almost standard for husbands to pass before wives over here, and the women on her mother's side of the family seem to made of pretty stern stuff. Okasan will be 87 this year, the youngest of three sisters. The other two are still going strong into their nineties. All of their husbands are long gone. While life can throw all kinds of curves and surprises at us, it would seem that the odds for a long life are stacked in her favour. Japanese women are renowned for living to be positively ancient. Fingers crossed.
Considering the rather high stakes life-style I had engaged in until at least my mid-forties, it's something of a wonder I'm even around today.
So, going on the assumption that I would likely be the one to go first...what did I want her to do with me? Who should she notify? These were the questions I was being posed from the living room as I worked through my pre-ceremony business on the porcelain throne.
"Over here? Nobody. You don't need to call or tell anyone. I don't want any ceremony or gatherings. No phoniness. Nothing."
I'd made it abundantly clear that I didn't want to have anything to do with 'pay-to-pray' Buddhism, or the type of status-quo memorial service that we were in the midst of navigating our way through with Mayumi's family. I'm not a Christian, either. I'm not 'a believer'. I have no use for any of it.
Mina would need any money that we have for her own financial security...not a single yen need go to booking a ceremony hall, or lining any priest's pockets. Nothing frivolous. I would insist on that.
The last thing I'd want is the extended family - essentially people that I barely know - going through the motions and being fake, while my remains lay there in a box like some gaijin curiosity to be dutifully filed past and leered at. Lord knows I'd been leered at enough over here while I was alive. I'd not be giving anyone another opportunity.
Besides, everyone has better things to do.
I can't abide insincerity.
It may sound strange when I say that I really have no 'friends' to speak of over here. I've been here almost half my life. While this wasn't always the case, some difficult events of the decade past ultimately forced me to do a rather painful reassessing of the people I'd surrounded myself with for the better part of my first twenty years here in Losersville.
So... "NO".
I wouldn't be giving any of that lot the satisfaction of crowing over my demise. It was already done. I certainly wouldn't subject Mina to them.
As far as any clients or students that I might have, they should be thanked for their patronage, apologized to for any 'inconvenience' my passing may have caused, refunded whatever they are owed, and told there are to be 'no services'.
The Japanese are big on having employers or business related associates at their weddings and funerals. Not me.
"What about your family in Canada and the United States? What should I do?", Mina queried from the living room, where she was sorting and hanging damp dish towels on the portable frame laundry hanger in front of the couch.
"I guess you'd better get in touch with whoever is still around. My sisters on either side will need to know. You can text both of them. They'll pass it on to whoever else it may concern. You can tell them there won't be any funeral ceremony, so they don't have to do anything. You won't need to worry about anyone coming, either. No one will."
It's a lot of money to spend, and a long way to come to look at a pile of ashes.
My late Gramma used to say, "Bring me flowers while I'm alive. I can't enjoy them when I'm dead."
I leaned in and grabbed a fresh roll of toilet paper out of the side cupboard. Sunshine was streaming in through the front sliders and glinting off of the shitty white linoleum flooring in the narrow hallway outside of the bathroom. A hell of a conversation to be carrying on between the toilet and the living room.
"So...what should I do with your body? Just burn it up?"
"Yeah, that's what I figure. Just have it burned up as quickly and cheaply as you can."
"And that's it? What should I do with your ashes?"
We'd seen something on TV awhile ago about 'Memorial Diamonds'. There are companies that can take an amount of your loved one's ashes, and using the wonders of cutting edge industrial technology, fuse them into an actual diamond.
From there, it can be set into an item of jewelry, or whatever you like. That's fine with me.
I fit a fresh roll of paper in the toilet roll dispenser, making sure that the first sheets would be coming off of the top, not the bottom. I hate it when people just stick them in upside down. They never never rip off evenly, it's frustrating, and it's a waste.
"Just dump them in the Horikawa canal, I guess. Whatever's easiest..."
There were a couple seconds pause.
In fifteen years, I don't think I've ever heard Mina cry really loud before...but she did then. A full, loud, sobbing cry. My heart dropped.
Fuck.
I leaned in and saw her sitting on the couch, covering her eyes. Her pain was palpable. I felt terrible.
"Honey...please...what's the matter? Don't cry... please..." I was so stupid.
I should have shrugged and deferred on answering that specific question. We had enough to deal with today, and the discussion at hand merited a bit more care and consideration than a flip answer from the lavatory.
"Do you really want me to dump you in the filthy Horikawa, like gomi (garbage)? Really?!?"
She kept sobbing, loudly.
"I'm sorry. Maybe it's easy...".
I knew that was the wrong thing to say before the words even got all the way out of my mouth. What was my problem?
"I'm serious! IS THAT REALLY WHAT YOU WANT?!? You're my husband! I love you! Think of me!"
This hit me like a proverbial 'ton of bricks'. I had been a first class shit-heel. I was beyond lucky. Beyond fortunate that I was cared for enough that any of this 'hypothetical bullshit' would be of any concern to anyone. Why would I say something like that...and in such a casual, off-handed way, like I existed in some kind of bubble, purely unto myself?
Of course it would make her feel awful, and alienated. Perhaps I thought I'd been making a self effacing joke - but the timing couldn't have been worse.
I felt like I had overlooked her love and caring, and taken it for granted.
"I'm sorry. I wasn't being serious. I spoke without thinking. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings."
"Please be serious! Think! If something were to happen to you today, then I'd have to follow your wishes and dump your ashes in the Horikawa, because that's what you said! How miserable! Think of my feelings! THAT'S WHAT I WOULD HAVE TO DO! Is that what you really want? Would you want to throw MY ASHES in the Horikawa?!?"
"Of course not."
"Why?!?"
"Because I love you."
"Then THINK!
Definitely not my finest hour.
Perched on the edge of the couch, she grabbed a handful of tissues from the box on the table, blew her nose, wiped her eyes, and leaned in, staring past the laundry hanger at me finishing up my business on the crapper.
I felt like an ass.
"Seriously. What do you want me to do?!?"
I flushed the toilet, washed up, and went into the living room. We had to start getting our act together.
"Maybe do something like we did with my Mum. Take my ashes down to the seaside. Somewhere we loved."
"How about the diamond idea?"
"Sure. Whatever you like...I'm alright with it. Just no ceremonies. No family gatherings, faces from the past, priests or anything like that. Of course you can bring Mayumi or Okasan to the crematorium, and to spread the ashes if you want. Or not. It's up to you."
That's what I should have said in the beginning. Funerals and the such are more about assuaging the consciences and insecurities of the living than serving the deceased. When I step off this mortal coil, I want her to do anything that makes her feel better, and gives her peace of mind - outside of blowing a wad of precious cash on a ridiculous ceremony and some charlatan priest.
Of course, there was still the matter of what she'd want to happen if she somehow went first. I didn't even want to consider what kind of shit-show that would be.
She says that she doesn't want a Japanese funeral with all the bells and whistles; that if my ashes are spread by the seaside, that's what she'll choose to have done, too. We don't have any kids...no one to mourn us, or bother with the endless rites and rituals after we're gone. I don't think it will be that easy, though.
If Mayumi happens to be around, I could see her intervening and insisting on the full Japanese thing, so that Mina could 'rest in eternity with her family'. At that point, I doubt I'd have it in me to lock horns with her. I'd be devastated. Unless Mina put it in writing, Mayumi would probably push to have things go the way she wants to see them done...and that's the way it would be.
I'd have my plate full, anyways. With Mina's passing, my spouse visa would be invalid, and I'd likely be given some kind of deadline by Immigration to sort out out my business, pack my shit up, and leave. My days here would be numbered, and I'd need Mayumi's help getting things cleaned up, and sorted out. I couldn't afford to be on her shit list.
I have no idea where I'd go at that point. I'd be at a dead end, in every way. I can kind of see how people can get pushed into doing desperate things in situations like that. It's all too terrifying to even contemplate.
I had better kick the bucket before Mina does.
The clock was ticking. We got our funeral outfits on, grabbed a couple of bottles of tea out of the fridge, and hit the road.
We got there with about ten minutes to spare. Surly #1 Sumo-Son was in the foyer, and gestured us toward the elevator; but we took the stairs. There was no need to bring along another envelope full of cash, so Mina simply signed us in, and made small talk with her sister and younger nephew. I just bowed and tried to make myself scarce. I headed for the seats we'd taken at the wake service the evening before, but apparently we weren't going to be allowed to sit there again. For some odd reason, the powers-that-be decided that today we should sit on the left side, a couple of rows behind Hated Douchebag Brother and his odious wife. Whatever.
Mina came in and gestured to a pair of seats, and we sat down.
She leaned in whispered,
"Mayumi changed the group eating plan, and had take-out bento boxes prepared - like last night. You see! She did listen to us!"
That was nice; but at this stage of the game, I don't think that whether or not we'd get a take home bento even mattered anymore. It wouldn't be the last time that we'd go through this exact song and dance, either.
We hung our bags on the backs of the empty seats in front of us, and she handed me my juzu prayer bead bracelet from her purse.
At that, the priest came in, and took his place at the podium up front. There was more bell chiming, droning sutra chanting, bead bracelet clutching, and incense burning. I guess the main difference between this ceremony and last night's, is that this is the one where our late brother-in-law's new Buddhist name (戒名, kaimyō; lit. "precept name") is unveiled. Written in kanji (traditional Japanese script), its length is determined by (among other factors) the amount of money the bereaved family has decided to 'donate' to the temple. The longer, more esoteric names are considered the most auspicious, and can set the family back a million yen (a hundred thousand dollars) or more. More 'common' names are less expensive, of course - but would betray a family's social rank.
Unsurprisingly, every now and then the odd 'unscrupulous' temple comes under scrutiny for being found to have exerted pressure on families to spring for these more elaborate names. What difference does it make? I imagine that it all comes down to appearances. As I've mentioned, the J-folk are all about artifice and image. Showing off.
From what I've read, the point of establishing a kaimyō is apparently to prevent the deceased from coming back if their name is called. This doesn't make much sense to me. Wouldn't the bereaved be over-joyed if the deceased could simply 'come back' at the sound of his or her name being called?
Or would said 'coming back' be an entirely more sinister affair?
Since I can't read kanji, and am not an expert in what is or isn't considered 'auspicious' in the realm of post-life Buddhist monikers, I have no idea what my late brother-in-law's new name is; nor the price Mayumi might have paid for it.
Being the human equivalent of a service dog, I didn't see it as my place to ask, either.
My two-bit opinion? The whole thing seems like a massive scam. Just another ruse created so the priests can extort more cash from vulnerable, grieving families.
Toward the end of the final round of the priest's droning sutra, a couple of ceremony hall attendants lithely manoeuvred around behind the scenes, snipping away choice bunches of flowers from the gorgeous funeral arrangement framing Mayumi's husband's casket. I didn't think that they were going to go ahead with this; but apparently it would be a 'normal' funeral service, in every way. My gut instinct was to excuse myself, and go wait in the foyer...but there was no way to slip out. Yesterday evening had really been more than enough for me.
The priest finished up, and the attendants moved around amongst the sparse congregation with arm loads of beautiful and aromatic long stemmed white lilies, offering each of us our choice as the casket was pushed out and down the centre aisle, then opened up wide for all to view.
For a gaijin in Japan, it's worth remembering that in any given situation, while it might appear that no one is actively watching you, the natives are all acutely aware of absolutely everything you do. Mis-steps and fumbles will absolutely be noted. This can be extremely un-nerving, and is something that I've never gotten used to.
As the woman came by with the flowers, I took a couple. The idea here is that mourners be able to place said flowers (or other small, sundry items that may have had some meaning to the individual) around the deceased's head, shoulders, and upper body, and get a last look before the casket is finally sealed, carried down to the hearse, and taken to the crematorium.
My mouth was dry, and I was starting to feel a bit of a panic thing coming on.
Everyone stood up and moved toward the open casket, as Mayumi's husband - ashen faced and looking particularly diminutive - lay there on his dry ice cushions, frozen in time. I deliberately kept slightly back...and as I slowly moved forward, his douchebag brother's odious wife, who had been seated just a couple of rows ahead of us, suddenly turned and looked at me, motioning me to come forward - like I was missing out on something. I shot her a look, and stopped where I was. I'd actually had more than enough the previous evening.
I wished she'd just mind her own fucking business.
Nothing about this felt right. I wished that I could be anywhere else.
Aware that my actions were being peripherally observed and noted, I moved in tentatively, placed the two long-stemmed lilies at his side, then moved back. Surly #1 Sumo Son's kids came to life, and moved around excitedly, placing additional flowers around their grandfather, as if it were some kind of game. His second son brought in a cream cake, then poured some beer around him. There were some last words... a bit of crying...and some poking and prodding. A very sad scene.
The casket was finally closed, sealed, and wheeled out toward the elevator. I tried to remain as far back from the gaggle as possible. I was terribly upset; but couldn't summon a single tear. Why?
Mina was wiping her eyes with a screwed up tissue. We picked up our bags, and went down the stairs to the first floor. Mayumi's sons, her deceased husband's douchebag brother, and what appeared to be a couple of guys from her husband's former company acted as pallbearers, hoisting the casket off of the wheeled gurney, and carrying it through the automatic sliders to the waiting hearse. No one asked me to join in...and I didn't feel it was my place to volunteer.
Truth be told, I didn't even feel like I was actually present. The whole affair seemed like some prolonged out-of-body experience that I was watching unfold from a distance.
After the hearse pulled out and away, I excused myself and went in to take a pee. Mina waited out front, then we got the car and embarked on the twenty minute drive out to the Yagoto Cemetery and Crematorium. It felt good to get out of there, and away from that scene. I was starting feel a bit anxious...as if I were hurtling through a long, dark tunnel, with no hint of light at either end. The afternoon sun was shining. I flicked around through the music she'd downloaded on the car's HDD thing, and clicked on Diana Ross and The Supremes - simply because it was the first thing that came up on the menu.
'Where Did Our Love Go'.
Fluffy mid-sixties Motown pop. Odd, but it somehow worked well in that moment. Mina smiled.
"Nice choice"
A little levity was just what the doctor ordered. I wished that drive could have taken an hour.
We pulled in to the rather expansive parking lot at Yagoto Cemetery and Crematorium complex about twenty minutes later. Once everyone had arrived, we went en masse to the assigned Crematorium Bay area, where Mayumi's husband's casket was waiting. After a few words, it was placed on a ceramic tray, and slid into the furnace.
The atmosphere in there is hard to describe. The slight heat, and low roar coming from the furnace. The trio of auto-mechanic looking guys tasked with handling the cremation and remains. The faint, odd smell that I couldn't quite put my finger on. A sense that the walls were about to close in on me. It made me feel a bit panicky. My first instinct was to bolt out of there as quickly as I could. To run. I needed a strategy. Aware that I was being at least passively observed, I started by trying to manage my breathing as inconspicuously as possible.
Take a deep breath. Hold. Count to six. Exhale.
Visualize somewhere else. Anywhere.
My Gramma's house on West 7th.
That shabby, musty old used book and comic store on 16th and Dunbar, where I would while away so many afternoons as an adolescent in Vancouver.
A late July sunset on ratty old Trafalgar Beach.
I needed to try to project myself out of this space. I clutched at Mina's hand.
It's said that an adult body takes around an hour and a half to cremate...so the group adjourned to a rather spartan waiting area that seemed like a cross between the lobby of a car wash back in the 70's, and a small town Greyhound Bus Station.
We all sat in the section that corresponded by number to the Crematorium Bay the family had been assigned to. There were large windows facing out on the full parking lot, Men's and Women's facilities along the lines of what you'd find in a JR train station, a few fold out tables, some vending machines, and a small kiosk where things like beer, potato chips and cigarettes could be purchased. Mina and I took up seats facing each other at a small table on the end. Douchebag brother and his odious wife occupied the next table, and Mayumi and her group the third, longer table table near the far wall.
The kids had got their hands on some snacks, and were moving around restlessly. The atmosphere between douchebag brother and the rest of the group definitely left something to be desired, but all concerned were trying their level best to be cordial and polite. Of course, everyone was well aware of the unacceptable comments that he had made to Mayumi the day that his brother had passed. There were some extremely stiff attempts made at small talk, and what little there was seemed painful and forced. Through no fault of her own, his odious wife seemed to be caught in middle of it. An unenviable position to be in; but that's what you get for marrying an arsehole. The only adjective I can come up with that would accurately describe the scene in there would be 'dank'. It was a dank scene.
Mayumi had given Mina several mochi and sweet bean paste sweets after the funeral ceremony. She took a few out of her bag, and laid them on the table. I was starving, and immediately snapped one up. Surly #1 Sumo-Son materialized from the kiosk with a cardboard carry-tray of hot coffees, which he kindly offered to everyone. Mina took one, but I politely declined. I love coffee; but it turns my stomach in knots, and I haven't been able to drink it in years. I ate the sweet bean cake, and sipped at the now lukewarm bottle of jasmine tea that I'd brought. While Mina intermittently chatted and fiddled around with her iPhone, I closed my eyes and tried to clear my mind. I kind of wished that I'd poked the iPad into my bag; but Mina discouraged it. I guess she didn't want to take a chance on raising anyone's hackles. While it was apparently acceptable for the natives to peruse their smartphones at every opportunity, my taking out a tablet might somehow construed as disrespectful. I'd have to just sit in silence.
Every once in awhile a voice from the p.a. wall speaker would call out the family name of a waiting group, or we would see a procession of masked, black clad mourners with a wrapped box of remains pass by on their way out of the Crematorium Bay area. Through the windows facing the parking lot, it was evident that the waning afternoon sun was starting to cast some noticeably longer shadows.
It must have been close to four o'clock when our group name was finally called. We collected our bags and made our way back to the designated Crematorium Bay. There, we were greeted by a potpourri of bones and ashen remains, which - judging by the amount of heat they were still throwing off - had been just been pulled out of the furnace.
It's a sight will likely stick in my mind for the rest of my days. I felt queasy.
Breathe. Hold. Count. Exhale.
It was time for the bone picking ceremony. Starting from the feet, members of the funeral entourage, in pairs, are to take turns lifting select bones off of the ceramic holding tray with long metal chopsticks, each specific bone being lifted by two mourners together, then placed into an urn. This is called kotsuage (骨揚げ), and it's the only time it's ever considered appropriate for two people to lift anything together with chopsticks. It's a major social faux pas for two people to ever hold the same item at the same time with chopsticks, or pass anything from one pair of chopsticks to another, because of its association with funerals. Similarly, one is never to stand their chopsticks in a bowl of rice. Most gaijin will have inadvertently done these things at some time or other in their 'novice period' over here, and been lightly scolded for it.
I was starting to get the urge to bolt again.
Breathe. Hold. Count. Exhale.
Quietly.
To make matters worse, the auto-mechanic looking crematorium attendants had apparently decided that perhaps the heat radiating, baked bones hadn't separated fully or completely enough in the furnace to be able to easily fit into the urn, and began unceremoniously snapping and wedging them into smaller pieces with tools that looked like long stainless steel grill spatulas.
The whole distasteful spectacle reminded me of a barbeque kalbi house I'd visited in South Korea, where restaurant staff would come around with big metal scissors and cut unwieldy pieces meat apart for you at your table's cooker. The awful cracking, splintering and snapping noises the bones made as said attendants hacked some of the larger sections apart will also stick with me for a long time. Seemingly oblivious, everyone gathered around, eager to get in and do their thing.
I just wanted to fucking disappear. I stood back and let them at it.
Of course, no matter how invisible I wished I was or tried to be, there was no escape from the inevitability that - yes - douchebag brother's odious wife would turn around and start waving me over. My she thought that she was doing a good deed, or something. It was starting to pick my ass. I'm sure I overheard someone muttering that I wouldn't do it, and just like that, the focus that I was so desperately trying to avoid was suddenly on me. For Mina's sake, I'd have to suck it up and get it done. I bit my lower lip, moved in, took a pair of metal chopsticks from the container, and waited to be directed to an appropriate bone. I'm not sure who picked it up with me...Mina, or 'odious wife'. Somehow, I think it was the latter. Conscious that all eyes in the place were now on 'the gaijin', I wasn't really focussed on anything other than getting that bone into the urn, and being done with it.
I didn't feel honoured to do this. I resented it. I wasn't close to Mayumi's husband at all during his life. Sure, we'd had a few beers together over the fifteen-odd years we'd been acquainted...but, as near as I could figure, we'd never actually attempted a one-on-one conversation. I don't even think he had ever addressed me directly. Only in a third person sense, through my Mina or Mayumi. Yet here I was... forging around through his ashes and bones with chopsticks, while a crowd of people I barely knew looked on. And judged.
Jesus. It was too much.
Way too much.
I put the chopsticks back in the container and stepped back, heart pounding. Mina may or may not have said, 'good job, Shaun kun'. I can't recall. I really needed to get outside, and get some fresh air.
Breathe. Hold. Count. Exhale.
Shortly after this, we were permitted to excuse ourselves. The 'remaining remains' were sorted and allocated, and the urn was wrapped up and given to Mayumi and her family. They would hold on to it, and go into their official 49 day period of mourning.
Of course, there would be more ceremonies, some of which we'd be obliged to attend, and others we wouldn't...but for us, for now, it was done. We headed out to the car. I was feeling a bit light headed. As we were pulling out, and getting ready to head back to the Ceremony Hall, the pounding in my chest continued, unabated. I put my head down.
Breathe. Exhale. Breathe. Exhale.
I felt like I was having some kind of episode. Like a low level anxiety attack.
Mina asked if I was alright. I had no idea. Maybe I had let the stress of this whole thing accumulate and get on top of me. It really had been a bit much.
"I'll be fine"
"Are you sure?"
She seemed to be handling everything remarkably well. I guess the natives are used to all of this.
At best, I found it excessive. At worst, archaic. These ceremonies are dour, grey affairs - rigid, and devoid of anything reflecting the heart or humanity of the deceased individual, save for the tears of his or her next of kin. There is no warmth or compassion in any of the priest-led proceedings. Everything is straight, flat, and strictly by the book.
Events like this also remind us of the fragility of our own mortalities. On a personal level, the last couple of days had forced me to go into some dusty back cupboards, and confront a few things that I'd shuffled away, and honestly rather not wanted to grapple with.
By the time it was done, my initial empathy and sadness had evolved into a curious mix of emotional exhaustion and resentment.
Nobody does 'anti-celebrations' like the Japanese.
By the time we arrived back at the Ceremony Hall, I was feeling a little better...and the sun had finally dropped below then now grey-orange horizon. The only order of business left was to go upstairs and pick up the bento boxes that had been delivered while we were out 'bone picking', give our condolences to Mayumi and her family one more time... and call it a summer.
I made extra sure to pick up a packet of salt on the way out.
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