Part 9: The First Day Alone

I cannot fathom what it must be like to experience that first day of being ‘alone’. I thank God that I still have my parents. I have no idea what it must be like to lose one, and especially both. It is a terribly frightening thought to me. Who do you turn to for guidance? For wisdom? For comfort? Worst of all, when you just want to see or talk to your parents, they are not there. It must be incredibly hard to know that for the first time in your life, your parents have gone for good. They will never come back. You are on your own.

Such a loss has recently occurred. I am numbed, and cannot possibly understand what Tonya is going through. I try to keep reminding myself to just be whatever it is she needs you to be-and I have no idea what that is! Still, I hope that just being by her side, and being involved in the whole situation is at least grounding enough, and somewhat supportive knowing she is not in this alone.

It all happened so fast. I am not sure the way things go here, because I am the outsider. I do not understand how a family can be supportive and be involved, for just a day after the death, the ceremony is given for cremation. This means, in the midst of extreme sadness and mourning, you must rush home, make calls and get ready for the next day’s ceremony. Yes, you have 24 hours to say your final goodbyes-after that, you missed your chance.

The ceremony we attended was a sad solemn affair. If this were not Mexico, it probably would have been just a totally sullen day; however, given the place we are at, there definitely would be something amiss and odd. Because of the lack of time and suddenness of the situation, there were truly a handful of people who were able to be there, three of which just happened to all be here at the same time. Tonya was very distraught over the barrenness of the ceremony. So few people, so sudden and truly, so alone and at a loss. I understood her sadness and fear…I still do. This is one of those moments in life which is definitely heartbreaking.

Due to the crazy laws here, we were not allowed to drive to the funeral home, so we had to take a cab. It was a long cab ride into some very strange territory. The cab driver was nice. He talked to me in Spanish about the game on the radio (Mexico vs. South Africa), even though I had no idea what he was saying. We made a stop at a place he recognized. He then put two and two together, and asked Tonya about her mom. He said he remembered her because he would drive her to this one place quite often. I could tell that was a tender moment for Tonya. You could see it in her eyes, and obviously in her face. He suddenly turns the radio off. The game is over and it is a tie; Mexico 1, South Africa 1. Our ride ended way on top of a hill, over looking a vast part of the city. This place is really on top of city. The last few blocks especially, were a constant climb up through ravaged neighborhoods, stray dogs and plenty of stares. The street ended with the car pointed nose up. There was nowhere left to go but into the big gates.

It was a big white place, with a quietly flowing waterway in front of the crematorium. It was breezy and nice, and we walked up to the giant shiny glass front where a lisping Mexican with glossy, gelled hair greeted us with a simple “Tonya”. He ushered us in to the building and stood in the hallway and spoke for a few moments with Tonya. To continue on, he walked us in to another office. A plain, empty office with cold white walls. The breeze blowing in made the blinds slap against the wall. For a while, this would be the only real sound above softly spoken words. He opened the door to a simple table with four chairs. He motions for us to come in and asks us to sit. He realizes what has just happened, and sets his briefcase down. The four chairs are new, rolled up neatly under the table, and still covered deep in shrink-wrap. He hurriedly peeled the plastic off as we shared a stunned and somewhat confused look at one another. One by one, he pulled a chair out and piled up a heap of plastic on the floor. When he was finished, he grabbed his notebook full of Xeroxed pricelists in plastic sheets, and talked over what was at hand.

After talking numbers and bureaucracy, he leaves us to sit while he tidies up his end of business. In the silence, Tonya breaks down. The blinds are slapping and I stare blankly out under the grey skies at the mass that is Mexico City. He comes back in and says we can go upstairs and sit with the body now.

We walk up the stairs quietly and in to the room reserved for us. It is a large white room with several fake leather couches. In the doorway is a mega-mart art purchase of Vermeer’s “Girl With A Pearl Earring”. There are only three of us in this whole room. Purses are sat on the couch opposite the viewing area, and Natasha lets out an almost inaudible “ugh”. I follow Tonya up to the casket, and Natasha stands alone near the couch. This is such an odd thing. What possible can you say or do…but just be there for whoever needs you. We walk back to the couch and Tonya is in tears. There is a group of three bodies huddled together on a fake leather couch. It is a group hug. No one is speaking, just crying. I can’t see either of their faces, but I feel the bodies heaving and see tears falling on their fore arms which are intertwined. To me, it really is a tender moment. The arms glisten from tears in the silence. Now, we sit in silence.

Not too long in to our time alone, steps are heard in the hallway, accompanied by chattering. A strange woman walks in with a clipboard and talking loudly. She stops almost immediately with a frightened look on her face. She has just walked into the wrong room while giving others a tour of the place. She quickly apologizes and turns to leave. When she does, her followers gaze quickly inside to see what their tour guide has just interrupted. The steps trail off and their chatter echoes as they go room to room and view the place. For quite a while we sit in near silence. Tonya expresses various feelings and thoughts. She is concerned over the priest who is supposed to come, as there has been no word as to when he is supposed to arrive. I notice that on the end tables around the room are lamps. None of them are plugged in. They all have their wires still neatly bundled as if they have never been used. It feels cold in this place. Cold, as in insincere.

One of Tonya’s best friends shows up after a while. It is Loulou. They have known one another since school days. Loulou walks in and says hello and puts her purse down. She walks to Tonya and they hug. She greets Natasha and comes to me with her awkward sway and leans her head in for a kiss hello. I wonder why she has a red patch on the left side of her face, like a bug bite or something. We hug and then she sits next to Tonya, on the arm of the couch. As she is balanced there, she asks why the casket is open. She then tells Tonya to get up and shut it if she doesn’t like it. Tonya is a bit confused. Loulou asks a few more times “Do you want to close it?” She has no problem speaking her mind. She turns the talk into other topics. She tells of her fear of getting lost in the neighborhood surrounding this place. It is daunting, even to a native. She then starts in about how they had big screens set up at school and invited all the dads to come watch the opening match of the World Cup with their kids today. They had loads of food and made a big deal out of it, “I had a few quesadillas. They were good”, Loulou touts.

Loulou asks who else is expected. We sit and talk a bit in between odd silent bits. Loulou asks if anyone wants a snack or something to drink. No replies. Tonya keeps asking Loulou if she is comfortable, and if she wants to sit on the couch. As she balances herself on the arm next to Tonya, she pats it and tells Tonya she is fine, and totally comfortable. As she changes subject into subject, she keeps picking at the side of her face. She asks if there is a restroom nearby. “I need to see what is on my face” she informs us. “I keep picking my mole. I want to see what it is like. I hope it is not bleeding”

“Stop it!” Tonya says. We are all a bit shocked at this impulsive confession. Loulou laughs and starts to tell us of how she always picks her moles. She gets into details of how she pulled one of her leg and it start bleeding and she was shocked at what was in her hand, “Oh my! What is this, what did I just do!”

Moles! I don’t think any of us would have guessed this would be the topic of conversation whilst awaiting a priest before a cremation. There is laughing and a bit of geeking out. Thankfully, Loulou will be a great source of comic relief. The ice had been broken well enough for the question to be asked ‘who wants to smoke’. A great release for pent up tension. They go outside and downstairs to smoke. Upon their return we re-adjust our seating and quiet down a bit.

It is not too long before Natasha asks, “Did anyone else use the bathroom in there?” Loulou gives an affirmative. “Did the seat touch you?” Natasha asks. I look at Natasha.

“What?” asks Tonya? Loulou starts to laugh as Natasha explains. “The seat. It is adjusted too tight. When you lean forward to wipe, the cover starts to close and keeps touching you” Tonya is laughing. I am too. Loulou chimes in with the same experience.

Natasha leans forward to illustrate the point, “you have to lean forward and hold one arm back to keep the cover from touching you!” Once again, unexpected but much needed comic relief. Maybe Loulou is here to keep the mood from being too down and sullen. If so, she is doing a great job.

As the laugher dies down, another figure approaches the room. It is an acquaintance of Tonya’s mother, Martha. They worked together for quite a while. She comes in and exchanges pleasantries and sits softly down on a couch next to Tonya. It is three of us on one couch and two guests on the couch beside us. Tonya and Martha talk a bit. In times of silence, I exchange a simple smile with her. A man walks to the door and says “Con permisso”. Tonya tells him to come in. He takes a few steps inside the door and asks a few questions. He tells Tonya that the priest should be here before too long. We have now been here a few hours and the priest was supposed to be here at 1. He’s late, very late. Everyone mulls over the same question, why still no priest?

“Why is it so hard to get a priest?” I say out loud. “I mean, one would think it would be quite easy. After all, this is Mexico City, Catholic central. In a city this size you would think there would be a priest on every corner. I don’t get it…” There is a snicker or two and agreement. We get back to quiet talk and polite silence, as well as uncomfortable wiggling due to prolonged waiting on vinyl couches.

It had been maybe half an hour after the man showed up in the doorway to talk with Tonya. He now shows up again and repeats “Con Permisso”. He is here to announce the arrival of the priest, and ushers in a dark man in a white robe and a black briefcase. The man walks in hurriedly, and says hello. He walks to one side of the room and sets his briefcase down. I know it is the priest because in his other hand he has a small brass vile swinging on a chain, Holy Water. He is sweating. He doesn’t say a word, just starts to unzip his bag. He walks to window and opens it up a bit more to get a breeze in. The blinds start to slap as we watch him open up his case and start to pull out his robe and table cloth.

A rumble can be heard as the priest is getting ready. It gets louder and more noisy. It is the service elevator. As it gets even to our floor, there is more rumbling. A door beside the casket slides open. Three workers step out. The first in view is a young kid, probably a teenager. The bottoms of his jeans are ripped, making him have large flairs. He is skinny and has on a dirty t-shirt. It reads “One tequila, two tequila, three tequila FLOOR”, with a shot glass tipped over at the bottom of the image. Natasha and I shoot a glance to one another. The two other workers wheel off a table for the priest. He directs them where to put it. He hands a flower to the young man for moment while he gets prepared. He takes the flower back and breaks the stem off, handing it to the kid.

After the table is in place and the table cloth laid out in perfection, the priest is laying out his ornamentation and one worker looks at the casket and up at the ceiling. He looks around the room. He then motions up and asks Tonya is she wants all the lights turned on. She dismisses him with a quiet ‘no’. The priest is ready and tells the workers everything is ok. They pile back into the elevator, and the kid in the tequila shirt turns back towards the room to pull the door closed. The priest asked Tonya her mother’s name again. He repeats it back then takes a moment of silence.

The priest opens his book and starts the mass. I have no idea what he is saying. I am not Catholic and I do not speak Spanish. Still, it is somewhat familiar, because of scenes in movies. I recognize words like “Santo”, “espiritu”, “dominus” and other bits. He raises the book to his mouth and kisses a page. As he sets it down he raises his hands up. I notice he’s shaking. He stares across the room, looking at no one. He recites the mass. Martha repeats back the parts that are meant to be said aloud by the congregation. Tonya repeats quietly. I have no idea what to do, so I look at Tonya and when she bows, I do. I follow her lead. I sneak glances at the priest, and watch him wipe the sweat off and trace passages with his fingertips.

Hearing Martha recite the stanzas was comforting to me. It felt like someone cared, heartfelt. For a situation which seemed so sad and lonely, and the loss of someone so dear, her gentle but affirming voice warmed me. I was thinking of how sad it must be for someone to leave this world, alone. To leave without any prayers or an acknowledgement of something greater than the simple life lead here on earth. To not even speak of God, or honor the presence of him and the deceased seemed so foreign to me. I thought of what the priest was saying from the bits of Spanish I knew. His talk of God and his mercies, heaven and forgiveness echoed in my head. It seemed so necessary for all of us. To have a prayer said over a lifeless body seems like such a necessity. I cannot even fathom the thought of a body lying in silence, going to eternity without a single prayer. I thought of Tonya’s daughter standing next to me, who seems so into astrology. The absurdity played out in my head. What does one who believes in the stars do, some avid new-ager? Does some pagan wizard stand there and mumble something about Mercury in retrograde, and the alignment of Saturn put this or that house in retrograde? How futile, cold and completely lonely. I thought of how even if one does not believe in God, he is still necessary for our lives. If death is a lonely affair, to die only having a star pattern as your solace just seems completely and utterly hopeless.

The priest asks Tonya to step up to the casket. He hands her the Holy water and dips the flower into it. He recites a prayer as he flings the water on to the casket. He does this three times. The room is quiet, sling of his wrist, water drops can be heard hitting the casket. As Tonya walks back I can see calmness in her face. This time, as she stands next to me, the glistening on her forearm are drops of Holy water, not tears. A few moments later the priest says something and Martha and Loulou are giving us hugs. We are all supposed to exchange these, and in quietness and whispers, we do. It is done. Tonya quietly tells me she feels much better now. The priest takes his robe off, then folds up his table cloth. Everything is put away nicely, and with a simple “con permisso” he nods his head and disappears as quickly as he appeared. Strangely enough, I feel better too.

It isn’t too long before Martha announces she will leave. She gives out some kisses and hugs, and quietly leaves the room. We all sit back down and reflect for a bit. Natasha tells me that she is glad she has been faced with this whole experience. "Now I feel like an adult" she says. Facing a loss and death like this first hand and for the first time was like some sort of rite of passage. She admits it is uncomfortable and sad, but somehow necessary. Loulou says she needs some water. She disappears for a few minutes then returns holding up a can of some carbonated fruit drink, “Its hot” she says as she sets it down. There is a bit of talk and then all three girls go outside to have a smoke. I sit alone for a few minutes, and then decide to get some fresh air. I join them downstairs outside. It is refreshing. The sky is grey, but there is a cool breeze. The sound of the water pool is extra soothing. Loulou walks down the walkway and talks on her cell phone. We sit quietly and listen to the trickling of water and the wind. When Loulou is finished she comes and tells us to come over to her house, have a bite and relax a bit. We are all more than willing to go relax a bit.

Once again, a worker appears in the entrance and asks for Tonya. They go over a few last details. Tonya then looks at us, and says everything is fine, we can go now. We walk to Loulou’s car and make our way to her house. Loulou’s place is very cozy and welcoming. She calls down to her twins sons, and each awkward teen comes and shakes our hands and says hello. Loulou offers up some food, and sends one of her sons to go get a coke for us. While in the kitchen, Loulou proudly exclaims that the sandwich she is making me will contain the world’s most perfect avocado. She is so convinced, I am summoned in to view the beauty before it is completely used, “Isn’t it beautiful?” she asks. “It is the world’s most perfect avocado”. Tonya agrees and they laugh and marvel and the soft green beauty as it is slowly sliced up and put between bread.

We all plop down in her living room and happily nest in each of our chairs and the couch. The sandwich is awesome. We have some laughs and talk about upcoming World Cup games, The Tudors and some of Loulou’s family oddities. One of the twins sits next to me and goes over fine points of the Mexican soccer team, and lays out who he thinks will win the Cup. Later, he ashamedly admits that he loves watching ‘Malcolm In The Middle’. The surprise confession gets a round of laughs, and he hangs his head while admitting to his fondness for the show. Friends call for the twins from outside. We sit for a while longer and then Loulou volunteers to call us a cab to get back home. When it arrives, she walks us out and calls her sons, who also walk with us and say goodbye. Without a doubt, Loulou has once again, lightened up what would have been a sincerely somber affair. The cab ride home is long, and through a section of the city with a constant twisting and turning through the hills, over bridges and steep inclines. No one really says a word. It is odd, that all of this green and rolling beauty is part of the same city.

Stillness greets us as we arrive home. For a long while, each of us does our own thing in virtual silence. At one point, there is a simple question with a raised voice, “Do you want some tea?” The answer back, is soft and affirming. Tonya talks a bit as we sip our hot drinks. She is confused and sad, and definitely longing. It has been a long and very hard day. I think all of us were reflecting on the whole day as we sat and sipped with slumped shoulders. We disperse again and each goes back to our own way of dealing with the day.

It was dark now, and hunger was calling…even amongst sadness, hunger can take precedence. Tonya sits as if holding court and says with a blank face, ‘It’s late. What should we do about dinner?” A few ideas bounce back and forth for a simple solution. I remind Tonya that the magnet on the fridge holds the key; pizza coupons. For the next half hour places are exchanged in front of a laptop, looking up competing pizza joints and what is on offer. Maria Antonia comes in from work and plops down in a chair as the pizza discourse is in heated debate. Tonya and Natasha “Mmmmmmm” in unison as they see chipotle as a choice on their dream pizza. We get a few chuckles out of Maria Antonia translating preferred ingredients for our soon to be pizzas. Tonya grabs a piece of paper and a pen and writes down ingredients that each of us are requesting. She divides the choices among two big pizzas and makes the call.

Conversation speeds up the time until the bell rings with our food. I spring into action and grab plates, napkins and other necessities. Tonya brings back two hot cardboard boxes containing our custom made pizzas. Maria Antonia gets up to get her fave hot sauce. We all sit down and as the boxes are opened and steam rises, it takes away all the heaviness of the day. Like kids at a slumber party, we are thrilled to grab the hot gooey slices of pizza and plop them on our plates. The pizza has changed our moods. I would say the wine helped too, but truth be told, the hot sauce being consumed was doing more to drown our sorrows than the wine. What started out as a very grey day was ending in smiles and empty pizza boxes. We were here all together, and at the end of a day like today, that is what really mattered.