Pictures

Kids at Camp in Duarte

Bamboo Forest in Corralitos

Death

*Ring Ring Ring*

Me – “Tie lair (Spanish pronunciation of Tyler) what’s up” as I walk to the garbage to throw the empty bag of what proved to be a delicious bag of Ranchitas. 

Tyler – Dailia passed away this morning…

And there I was, stopped.

It isn’t the first time someone has died since we’ve been here, Efemia’s sister suddenly passed away in mid September (I was new here and hadn’t even met her), another intern Trudy passed away in the end of December (but I am not sure if I had ever met her), Olma’s (teacher I help) mother passed away in January, but none of those instances moved me.

But there I was stopped, but moved. So the day progressed with the other three returning from a visit cut short in Terrero Colorado. My typing of choir songs and slew of other time consuming lame errands was put on hold, as I changed and ate a quick lunch. Gloomed by the nature of the beast silence was the main companion for most of the remainder of the afternoon as no one dared to test other people’s boundaries or reactions to the situation (which in hindsight is lame and frustrating).

So we headed off to the Casa Pasionista as Dailia was going to be laid to rest today because of her condition due to lack of eating the past few days. We arrived to El Rancho at about 2:30 and after saying hello to the residents of the Casa and a few strangers Alex beckoned Tyler and I to the car. I didn’t really think anything of it until we pulled into a part of the ranch I hadn’t been to, and then I guessed they were making the casket for the burial. Sure enough we stepped into the woodshop and there was a long narrow box with a silken fabric glued around the borders. For the next 30 minutes we watched as the boys in the shop sanded (we helped), stained the base, girls game in with a foam bottom to which the same silken fabric had been stitched, and a matching silken pillow, all which I assume was made at the sewing workshop. As the boys started working on the cover of the casket, Alex the director’s nephew, Tyler, Don Carino, and I headed off to a local pulperia to buy some rope to tie the casket to the truck.

When we had returned they had hinged the top of the casket to the base and were nailing the bands to stop the top of the casket at a 90-degree angle when opened. After allowing the top to dry from the quick stain we carried the casket to the bed of the truck and drove back to the Casa. It was when we placed the casket next to Dailia who was resting peacefully on a bed in the small Casa Chapel I was finally able to sit and say goodbye.

Dailia came to the Casa sometime in November and she weighed about 75 pounds. She was very frail but very friendly. By the end of December she probably would have touched 110 on the scale and had a little potbelly. She had the most warming smile and is the only person to actually give you a full-flush kiss on the cheek as a salutation, as opposed to the cheek-to-cheek smooching sound the rest of Honduras does. I liked being in her presence; it was always a positive environment.

Alex told me today she had cried every day since Trudy had passed away and hadn’t eaten in the last three days. Someone mentioned how food had been causing her a lot of pain, but Don Puri said at the end, everything was too much and she conceded her fight.

To me I am happy I was able to see her go from a frail 75lb patient to a vibrant 110 lb living human. I am upset I didn’t see her struggles, but as so many of us do, with how many people do we show our struggles? I hope she didn’t feel too much pain, and passed on accepting this was her time.

Two members of her family removed the white cloth, and placed Dailia (jeans, t-shirt and white socks) into the 10-minute-old coffin. Once her mother had given the okay, we carried the casket to the truck and drove about 15 minutes on rough terrain back into the mountains. After we crested the top of a hill we started carving into the side of the mountain and up a head you could see about a four-foot high wall of stones creating a square boundary for the graveyard, which was about 50 yards by 50 yards. We pulled up next to the freshly dug site and after laying placed the casket next to the hole. A small prayer was said, and words by the prayer giver, Don Puri, and the mother of Dailia. With her three kids on site, ranging from 7 to 13, her mother said her final goodbyes behind a combination of tears and sniffles and we lowered the coffin by rope. The males of the family replaced the earth and all dissipated.

The 10 minute service at the site was nice, but only the placing of the cross at her feet, saved watching people pile dirt on her casket from being the last thing people did in the presence of her body. Only one person stayed and said something once the dirt had been replaced…I’m glad one person did.

And now to my feelings, I hate how people on this continent deal with death. Death is beautiful, but I can only say that because I believe it corresponds with an immediate interaction with God. The only time three tears rolled down my cheeks and moisturized the dusty terrain below was when the youngest son buried his tear stained cheeks into the leg of an aunt, and I thought how this seven year old will never feel motherly love for the rest of his life. For him I mourned to the point of tears, and I ached for the mom, I don’t think any parents would prepare themselves to bury their children. Not Fair.

Back to my point, death completes the circle of life. And unfortunately, we get so wrapped up in the final stage of the journey, we let it consume us and we fail to see the big picture (doesn’t that apply to most parts of the American lifestyles). I know my faith plays a big role in why I want to celebrate death, but I think people miss a great opportunity to celebrate the accomplishments of the life and give a happy send off.

I am not saying people shouldn’t be upset, and they shouldn’t miss the person and cry. But how beautiful is it to meet with people who have the love for this one individual. And how beautiful would it be to get to know other people who loved this same person as you.

If people were to get together and celebrate my life when God calls me, I’d be moved. 

Guitar

Typical Saturday Night

Matt: Yeah, I think I’ll get up and go to 7 o’clock mass tomorrow morning.

Tyler: Yeah good idea

Sunday Morning – Alarm going off at 6:20

Matt turns off alarm, goes to the bathroom, and resets alarm for an hour later, pledging to go next week…Tyler laughs

 

Last Night

 

Matt: Luis (choir director) Piensa que estoy listo, Me gustaria tocar la guitarra a la misa a las siete manana por la mana, usted me dijo que sea mejor para aprender tocando durante la misa? (Do you think I’m ready, I would like to play guitar tomorrow morning, you said the best way to learn is to play during mass?)

Luis: Si, claro

Today – Alarm going off at 6:20

Matt goes to mass after a bowl of oatmeal with brown sugar, cinnamon and a glass of apple juice.

I arrived at the church about fifteen minutes before mass, I knew I was in over my head, but I was somewhat at peace with my position. Having only owned a guitar for about 2 months, and with the past Saturday spent practicing playing the keyboard (And So It Goes, anybody?) no one had any expectations other than patience. So as I grabbed the songbook for sick visits after mass, Tyler’s tuner, and my hat (it was chilly this morning) I took a peaceful 6:45 stroll three dusty blocks arriba to the church. I was surprised to see only tenish people and as I arrived to the front of the church I began to tune the guitar. Morning greeting to Luis brought information of a missing cable, nothing I was occupied with as I wanted to tune-up and throw a few chord combinations together to loosen up my fingers. At 6:53, I inquired further into what was missing as my guitar was prepped, and needed something to distract my upcoming performance. Luis told me there was a cable in Tyler’s back, I offered to go home and get it, and to bring the forgotten music sheets I had made for the mass the previous Wednesday at the Basilica for the Virgen of Suyapa. I took Luis’ bike and brought the cable and folder in hand back to the church. Well the chian fell off, and the papers started to fall…as I started trotting to church I wondered if they’d start mass w/out me. I literally dragged the bike up the seven steps and noticed people were still preparing for the mass. Phew.

 

Phew, except it was almost show time. However, relief, both Luis and Don Raphael were plugging into electrical devices meaning their sound would be amplified while mine would be the sweet sound of beginner.

 

Padre, being quite ill, strolled in at about 7:10 after seating assignments had been arranged (so I could see Luis’ fingers), songs were handed out, and tuning sessions were matched. And then it came…Virgen de Suyapa !Oh Reina de Honduras!....E, B7, E B7, E, A….BAR CHORDS!!!

I tell you, I knew some of the words to the song but they could have been singing in Chinese, and sound completed awful, or equally fluent and I wouldn’t have noticed. I have not concentrated, and put so much focus into something in quite a while, and I LOVED IT! No way could I follow Luis’ magic hand, put mine where his was going, play the chord, and SING how ridiculous. I was looking for patterns, tells, hints of what was next. No way could I play everything he was playing, but I sure tried.

Random Insert: The opening song has 16^th notes in it, meaning when I do have the words in front of me, there is such a cluster of words in such a short time frame, I can not even sing it anyhow.

Well, until the bar chords. Then it was time sit back, relax, prepare myself for the next E (which always came after the string of B minors, F and other chords further down the neck I didn’t even recognize). But when he was done, I was there ready for the E, B7, E, B7, E, A combo. It was cool.

And that was the first song. I believe the next song was the Gloria, which I really like. And it was some what easy to play, a few chords, constant strumming, hey I can do this, and then BOOM the song explodes and Luis is off, and me well, I still like singing the song. Playing it at one point was almost a joke, but I did my best to recognize patterns and started to realize how Eminors tended to fade in to A7.

The mass continued with times of sitting while the rest of the congregation was standing or kneeling. It was if my existence in mass had taken a complete other focus. No longer was I there to reflect, or strengthen my faith. My was consumed by the guitar, and I liked it. Alleluya, Offeratory, Hosanna, Paz, Comunion, Closing Hymns all came and went with amazement at what I could not do.

And I think it is in that where my happiness lies. The challenge presented in front of me. But not just a challenge, but one that is attainable, and through the achieved goal an avenue opens for me to share more with others AND THAT is why I love learning the guitar. Typical, not for this guy.