On a Cultural Note...

As I was writing the blog below, I heard a funeral procession in the distance.  I went to my front porch to observe it.  A typical procession includes a marching band in front, then the family (this time they were in a truck, other times they’re on foot) carrying the casket, followed by a large group of people, some wailing out, some wiping tears from their eyes, and all is somber.  It seems that every week I hear of someone dying.  Death here is a daily part of life.  I’m not sure why it’s so prevalent here.  Maybe it’s because life expectancy is lower because of the sub-standard medical treatment (my neighbor’s friend died of appendicitis over a month ago. Appendicitis!!  So totally preventable).  Maybe it’s because everyone is more tight-knit, more intimate and friendly with his or her neighbors, friends, and relatives.  Everyone values his or her extended family all the way up to the 10^th cousin, 4^th removed (or whatever, you get it).   My host family has lost various family members, friends, and neighbors since I’ve been here.  My neighbor and other mother, Victoria, who lives upstairs is always attending a velorio (funeral service).  There is mourning for 9 days and then on the ninth day, there is another service or occasion to commemorate the deceased.  I never know what to say when Victoria announces another death.  I always say “I’m sorry” or “how horrible” or something like that.  But all this death makes me feel strange.  I’ve only attended a velorio one time way back when I was in training, and I don’t want to attend one again.  There is a lot of sitting around, gossiping, playing dominoes as if it’s a normal day and then in the corner, the family of the deceased is sobbing loudly, screaming as people try to comfort them.

Over a year ago, I wrote a posting about my strong doña Esperanza and how she lost two of her three children, one during his training in the military and another in a fiery bus crash with her granddaughter.  I also asked doña Victoria about her children.  She too has lost a child.  Her son died ten years ago, leaving two young kids and a wife.  I’m a little unclear on how he died, but it sounded like he passed because of a medical condition.  I also remember during training, I asked my host mother about her children and she told me she had lost her grown son a year ago to illness.  And then she started crying.

As a member of a few Dominican families here, it’s only respectful that I ask about their families, but my questions are always met with tragic answers – the death of their children.

I think that’s something we fortunate Americans need to think about.  We are so separated from death in the U.S.  Losing children is not our reality.  But here, apparently, it is.