A wedding and a funeral

A wedding and a funeral


A wedding, a death, a birthday and a funeral, all within one week-end, is a lot more hectic than words could express. My brother’s son Omar got married in Rochester, New York, on Friday, the third of July. Omar’s bride Sara and her parents live in Rochester but a large number of Omar’s relatives and friends traveled to attend the wedding and reception.

As soon as we arrived at the church, we found out that my mother had a heart-attack and she was at the emergency of Strong Memorial Hospital in Rochester. I went in the church and stood for some group pictures with the bride and groom. A few minutes later I drove to the hospital where my brothers, a sister and other family members were standing outside the emergency entrance.

She survived the evening and they moved her to the cardiac care unit. I stayed beside her with my brother Sajid while the rest of the family participated in the wedding dinner. On Saturday morning the doctor in-charge of CCU told us that she was getting better and we should be able to take her home (a four hours drive) by Monday. He gave us his contact number in case she fell sick at home. The same evening around 8 PM her blood pressure went down to 50 sounding an alarm. We were told she may not survive. Around 6 PM on Sunday, my dear mother was pronounced dead.

She was 80 years old with a heart condition for the last 15 years. She lived independently in her apartment in Karachi where my father passed away in 2004. Before leaving her house for her last trip to North America, my mother called all her relatives and acquaintance and insisted that they come and see her. Death, the un-wanted destiny was on her mind when she embarked on this trip.

Being carried to her grave on the shoulders of her four sons was her most pronounced wish. Had she died in Pakistan, it would not happen. Five of her seven children, her son-in-laws, daughter-in-laws and grand children were by her side when she breathed for the last time. Her two daughters and her grand children who could not make it to Rochester had no bounds to their grief.

Her children and grandchildren cried, hugged and kissed her as she lay dead on the hospital bed. Sachal, my 10 year old nephew kept crying despite my efforts to explain the cycle of birth and death. 5th.of July is Sachal’s birthday and he was anguished over the fact that grandma passed away on his birthday. I kissed my mother and took the kids to Chuck E Cheese where they had some fun and laughter.

During those two days at the hospital we experienced kindness of strangers. The hospital staff took good care of their patient as well as the visitors. The doctors spoke with us as equals and convinced us on all available options before under-taking one. An Indian doctor was so frustrated after all efforts of healing her that he almost cried. Some hospital staff hugged us and cried with us.

Kuldip is a nursing aide at the hospital. She directed me to the Indian restaurant and offered to bring home-cooked meal for all of us. Kuldip hails from Delhi. Her husband passed away at the same hospital at the age of 45 and she was left alone to take care of her two kids. They lost her husband’s business and house after his demise but Kuldip’s mother-in-law came from India to help her out. Kuldip works at the hospital while her two children go to school. The presence of her deceased husband’s mother at home provides her support.

When I got back to the hospital after entertaining the kids, my mother’s body was waiting for the folks from funeral home. She was transported to Newburgh, New York, a six hour drive from Rochester. She was buried in Newburgh cemetery where they have a portion reserved for muslim burials.

The funeral home provides facility for bathing the dead in their building. My oldest sister, my wife and sister-in-laws bathed her for the last time. Her sons and grand sons transferred her into the wooden casket. Her funeral prayer was conducted at the local mosque. I asked the Pesh-Imam if women could form their own row and stand behind the men for prayers. To my amazement, he said yes. Though they stood behind men, it was for the first time in my life I saw muslim men and women standing for prayer together.

Her body was taken to the graveyard in a solemn procession. A black limo was in front, the hearse behind it and many cars followed with their hazard lights flashing. We proceeded slowly to complete a 5 minute drive in thirty minutes. The procession did not stop for traffic lights and the good people of the town waited patiently to let my mother’s funeral pass. The gentleman who led the Asr (after-noon) prayer and the one who led the Janaza (Funeral) prayer accompanied us to the graveyard along with other members of muslim community in the area. They helped us shovel soil onto the grave after her casket was lowered.

It feels as knowledge of impending death brought her to North America this time. The time came when we were all together in Rochester. Death must be repugnant because she got up from bed and wanted to walk out, a couple of hours before passing away, though she had been so weak during this ordeal that she could not lift herself up in bed. Death, no matter how we look at it, is mysterious in essence.

Malik A. Rashid
13 July 2009