Grief & Laughter

After my dad's funeral service we had to travel two hours to the burial site in Kompong Cham, my mom's hometown province. We rented two tour buses to travel to the site for anyone who wished to come. The buses were  packed and my two best friends and I squeezed into two seats. The two hour journey was filled with chatter, though a solemn mood hung over us. In between light conversations about every day life, I wondered what it would feel like to watch my dad's casket lower into the ground and how much more I would cry.

The cemetery was on a small plot of land in the countryside just off the main road. Men and women in black pants and white tops gathered around. I was amazed at how many people came along to the burial site to say goodbye to my father. Many had come to the funeral service but it was unexpected that so many would travel four hours for the burial. Part of me wanted it to be a private family gathering but the other part of me wanted to honor my dad by having all these people participate. We sang hymns, prayed and said one last goodbye.

After more hot tears and hugs, my dad was buried. My father and my uncle, who passed in 2008, lay next to each other. To the left of the site was a vibrant green rice field and a peaceful breeze. I was thankful for the soothing view and symbol of newness, life, and hope.




The bus ride back to Phnom Penh was, well, unexpected. 

The weight of mourning and grieving is a heavy beast. It is tiresome and draining. If you're not careful it will consume you whole. We couldn't take it anymore. We laughed. A lot.

My brother, who hadn't been to Cambodia since 2006, sat in the very back with old and new friends making people laugh like he always does. My sister had just been here the Christmas before and sat next to her old friends catching up with them as did my foster sisters.

We talked loudly. We sang Disney songs. We danced. We held rambunctious competitions with each other. When dusk fell upon the countryside the bus driver turned on the interior lights. They were colorful strips of neon lights. Like young children we simultaneously oooooooOOOOOO-ed and aaaaAAAAwww-ed at the party lights.

The front of the bus was filled with people who didn't know us kids as well as they knew my parents and probably scratched their heads (I'm sure some of them were ashamed) at the way we were coping. I would have if I were them.

We didn't have a script or consult a book on post-funeral etiquette. We weren't ignoring our grief. We knew we would have hard days ahead. We welcomed laughter and its mood-lifting effects. I'm thankful for my friends and my siblings and truly thankful for laughter.