This Thursday was an eye opener for me. In so many, many ways. I didn't realize until I'd been living here in Dominica for a few months that it would become so important to me to 1) Make an impact on the lives of the locals, and 2) Become a part of them. But slowly this past semester, I've felt like I've been doing just that. Many of you have seen (or read my post about) my involvement with a particularly special family here in Dominica. Through a ministry called in.Light.in, I have come to know and love the Henrys.
Junie Henry is a mother of 7 children ranging in age from 4 to 20. We have come to know and love 6 of her 7 children. Dion-20, Shernia-14, Johnson-12, Joseph-10, Calvin-7, and Stacy-4. Elise, Chelsea, Christy, and I have been working for a few weeks to get the school aged kids outfitted with school uniforms. It's been a bit of an adventure where that is concerned, but the fringe benefit of going back and forth into Portsmouth to price and purchase the items has meant that we have had the pleasure of spending lots of time with this sweet family. The week before last at inLightin, Junie tearily told me that her mother had passed away on Thursday morning. Christy had already given me a sort of heads up about it, so I wasn't surprised to hear it. But my heart just broke for her when I saw tears well up in her eyes as she told me, "Rachelle...my mommy die." Oh goodness, just guts me. She's a tough woman. Been through the birth of 7 children, lives in a home with no electricity or running water, raises those children the best way she knows how. But no woman, no matter how strong, can be expected to be strong when her mother passes away. Most especially if she is close to her mom. It's impossible. And I was honored when several days later, when I spoke with her on the phone about the kids uniforms, she requested that Elise and I attend her mother's funeral. I was touched.
And then...I got a kidney stone. And then on top of that found out I had E. Coli. Rough week for me man. All that is a post for later though. Suffice to say that as the week progressed, I was becoming more and more unsure of whether I would be able to attend this funeral. And I didn't want to let my sweet Junie down. So Thursday came. I woke up with a fever. Muscled through it. And by about 1:00, I started to feel uncharacteristically better. And by the grace of God alone, that glimmer of health lasted from 1:00 through the funeral and burial. More on that in a bit...
So Elise and I roll up to the 7th Day Adventist church in Portsmouth. It is simple. No frills. A mint green house with a little picket fence outside. There is a silver hearse outside and countless Dominicans out front dressed in black, white, and purple. Us two lily white girls dressed in black timidly walk toward the gate and Shernia and Junie burst through the crowd, faces streaked in tears. Shernia hugs us both and Junie just cries. I put my arm around her and squeeze her tight and she sort of melts a little. She is not actively crying, but she is most assuredly in a daze. She finally reaches up and kisses my cheek and whispers "You cwom and see ha. She is jost eenside." And I'm not gonna lie, I'm a little apprehensive. #1-Because I've never met her mother. It sort of didn't seem right for me to view her body having never known her. #2-Because I didn't know what the practice of embalming is like here in Dominica and I wasn't sure what to expect...
So as Elise and I begin walking toward the entrance of the church, people are literally clearing a path for us. Guiding us toward the cwoffin (as they call it). They are so intent on us seeing Ms. Debonnes. As we get closer to the casket, I begin to hear the first wails. "She not dead, she sleeping. I know she only sleeping!" shrieks a distraught granddaughter. The church is filled with tears and pain. And then there she is. In a simple pine box with laminate wood facing, simple brass handles, with white silk lining the inside. She is peaceful. Holding a single island flower in her clasped hands. Her head is covered with something that looks like a net bonnet. She is dressed in white. There is a styrofoam cross laced with pink and yellow silk flowers placed at the foot of the box. There is nothing fancy or over the top. I see a little of Junie in her face and I realize why she is so intent on us seeing her mother's body. It's because her mother is part of HER. And now I feel like I've got another piece of sweet Junie to cherish...
As we walk to our seats, we spot Calvin. Dressed in black pants and a white suit coat with no shirt underneath. He seems dazed as well. Just kind of confused. So I kiss his little head, tell him I love him, give Junie one last squeeze, and Elise and I take our seats. There are 2 rows in the front for family. A lone pianist plays ambient hymns on an electric keyboard. And then two women from the congregation get up, pick up two corded microphones, and say "There's a land that is fairer than day, and by faith we can see it afar. For the Father waits over the way to prepare us a dwelling place there." We are going to sing In the Sweet By and By. I am transcended to the funeral of my sweet Granny Frenchy as I remember singing that song at her funeral. But this service is a little different...
We sing and sing and sing. Some of the family members are crying. Junie's twin sister Marilynn is in the front row. Marilynn is 6 months pregnant. She begins to scream. And when I say scream I mean the kind of scream you might utter when someone is ripping you limb from limb. Just sheer pain. Hot, searing pain. People rush to her. They try to comfort her, wipe her face. The children begin to cry out of sympathy and maybe a little fear. And the pain becomes too much. They have to bring Marilynn outside of the church. And then the pastor stands and asks us to bow our heads in prayer. When we open our eyes, he instructs to pianist to play a hymn while we sing and they "bring de cwoffin fahwahd". And then it starts. Elise and I and most of the others sing. And the family wails. They scream! The children, many of which are the dear sweet children we work with during inLightin, wander up and down the center aisle, arms flailing...just shrieking. The box is closed. It's becoming more real...
Three teenage girls make their way to the front. They grab three corded microphones. The begin singing a cappella with no cue from the piano. A haunting 3 part harmony of "oohs" turns into a performance worthy of a standing ovation. It's just simply spectacular. Made me feel like I wanted to raise my hands...and I rarely feel that way in praise and worship...it's usually not my thing. They were amazing. Set the tone for the sermon that the pastor preached. He titled it We Will Rise. He talks about how Miss Helena sleeps, but in the twinkling of an eye, she was quickly changed. The body we mourn in the cwoffin down front is her old self. Riddled with pain and suffering. And now "she can run so fast Bolt has nothing on her". And the family begins to shed the weight of her loss a little. He speaks of Heaven. Of how God is the beginning and the end. And we will all see Jesus one day...Miss Helena will be at His right hand! He is the quintessential "Dominican preacher". He wipes the sweat from his face every so often. He smacks the lectern. He raises his hand. He says "can I get an amen". The congregation, while fanning themselves, is a constant hum of "mmhmm's", "amen's", and "hallelujah's". And then we begin singing again and the pal bearers wheel Ms. Debonnes' casket back down the aisle to the front door...
Elise and I, being from the US and all, assume the graveside service is reserved for immediate family. But a man in green pants and an unbuttoned shirt comes up and says "Junie say she need you." So we go to Junie who is loaded up in a bus headed for the burial site. She says "You take a transport to de pobleek cemeetary. Eet ees jost up de heel." So we ride up to the cemetery. Except it's not what we are expecting. We drive up a hill and stop at the bottom of another hill with grass as high as my waist. Miss Judith (another mother from inLightin) shows us the way to the burial site. We walk a path of smashed grass and see little outcroppings in the lawn where other people are buried. As we approach Ms. Debonnes' final resting place, Judith informs us that this land is public. When someone dies, you just find a place and dig a hole. And so we arrive. It is a small clearing in the grass. There are 5 unmarked graves there and one marked with a crude concrete headstone with a handwritten memorial on it. And then there is a hole. Elise and I are literally hustled up to the front. Even though we try to say "No, no. We aren't family. We can stand in the back," the locals refuse to let us be back row spectators. They are proud of their traditions and I can't help but think that they are also very flattered that we have come to pay our respects to one of their lost loved ones...
They lower the box into the grave. The paster speaks the quintessential "from dust we came, and to dust we shall return" speech while literally standing in the hole and tossing dirt inside. The sound of the mud hitting the hollow box is a little unnerving to me. There is no fancy concrete vault. And poor Marilynn, who had been advised not to come to the graveside but refused to stay away, screams louder than I've ever heard anyone scream. They try to comfort her, they take her out, and then later bring her back in. We begin to sing seemingly endless hymns. While the pal bearers, who in Dominica double as grave diggers and buriers, throw the loose dirt in on the casket. Dion, Junie's oldest, solemnly does his duty in this. He heavy handedly spikes the shovel into the earth, and tosses a shovel full into the grave. He wipes his sweat with a hand kerchief and does it all over again. We sing until there is no more dirt to toss...
Then a stream of people carrying plants comes in. These are not perfectly arranged sprays from a gifted florist. They aren't even flowers at all. Some are tropical plants that have been placed in styrofoam containers. Others are plants that have been literally ripped from the earth on the walk to the gravesite. They come in one by one and place the plants on the grave. They stick the unearthed stalks into the freshly turned soil of the grave. And it is absolutely beautiful. The sunlight streams down and the greens and oranges and purples from the fresh leaves create this gorgeous natural rainbow. Ms. Debonnes' resting place is a veritable Dominican botanical garden...
When the plants stop coming, it is finished. And Marilynn's poor little body cannot take it. She faints. Completely. And her limp body is carried out of the gravesite while everyone shakes their head and says "She must be careful with de baby. All dat wailing..." They are a little upset with her, I think, for being so out of control. They whisk her down the hill, put her in a car, and take her to the hospital. We walk out of the cemetery and down the hill to our awaiting ride. I scoop up Calvin and Stacy and bear hug them both. Kiss their sweet cheeks and tell them I love them. I give Junie and Dion and Shernia hugs and tell them if they need anything to call me. The locals are so friendly to me and Elise. They express how grateful they are that we came...
A few hours later, we meet Junie back at her house. We deliver the backpacks and uniforms components that we have been able to purchase over the last few weeks (the kids start school tomorrow). We bring her 4 bags of groceries. She is solemn. Quiet. So very very grateful, but she is in obvious pain. But she says to me, "I tell Elise dat I so concerned abot you. I tink 'Oh I cannot tink about Rachelle being so seeck!'. And I pray to Gwad dat He would make well my sweet Rachelle so dat she can cwom to my mommy funeral. And He answer dat prayer." And my heart soars. It is then when I realize where that uncharacteristic wellness that I had been experiencing came. He was answering her meek prayer for me! I have to resist bursting into tears with the gravity of how real that was. It was real. I was sick as a dog that morning. But felt better than I had in nearly a week for those 4 hours. Miraculous. For those few moments. So that I could be His arms around that family. His feet to deliver that clothing and food. His heart to hurt in a real way for the loss of their sweet mother and grandmother. His comfort in their time of grieving.
Thursday, August 29th, 2013 will be a day I do not soon forget...
"Blessed are those who mourn for they shall inherit the earth. ...Rejoice and be glad, for your reward in Heaven is great!" -Matthew 5:4 & 12
