Chapter Four

Chapter Four
Funeral for a Mom

I had arrived at Washington Memorial Cemetery a little after six. Once again, due to the lateness of the year, it was starting to get dark already. I had already made my annual pilgrimage to the graves and delivered the pink roses to my mother and grandmother. And left one my business cards by my father’s plaque once again. For the first time in five years, I had to study the layout of the cemetery again, because the grave of Renee’s mother was actually in a different section.

The Chinese section of the cemetery was one of the hilliest sections, which the cemetery’s brochures had described as a ‘preferred’ and ‘traditional’ setting for Chinese funerals.

The grave of Jing-May Choi was set about halfway up the hill. The majority of the graves bore Chinese characters, and Jing-May’s, evidently was no exception to this. The only real indication of the location was the presence of the mourners. They were all holding long thin brown sticks and standing in front of a wizened man wearing a white robe adorned with many Chinese characters inked in black along its edges. I can only guess that he is the priest who will conduct the ceremony. As I get closer, I realize that they are incense sticks. I take a spot behind some of the other mourners, and it elicits a surprised look from a young man posted near the priest.

This section of the cemetery was actually quite close to the road, because that’s the direction the others were facing. I soon learned why. The hearse was actually traveling up the hill, and comes to a stop close to the open grave. Oddly, the family was following behind it, their heads leaning against the hearse. The door to the hearse is opened, and I see Renee’s oldest brother holding a long stick of burning incense and sitting next to the coffin. He gets out, and the pallbearers begin to take the coffin out. The remaining family members, oddly, turn away from the coffin. I look around and notice that the others around me have also turned away. Must be some weird tradition, so I followed suit.

The other mourners turn toward the road again to watch the coffin being brought up the hill. Renee’s father and brothers follow closely behind the coffin, followed closely by Renee and her sisters. The procession seems to be in order of age. The youngest daughter is carrying a basket with something red and white in it. After a while, the coffin is brought up and placed upon the grave. Renee and her family gather around the grave, but turn away from the coffin again. When the others turn away, I follow suit.

I hear the familiar sound of the electric motor lowering the coffin into the grave. This would mark the second time I have heard that sound. When my grandmother died, I watched them lowering the coffin into the grave. I watched each shovelful of dirt as it hit the coffin. I didn’t leave until they finished.

The priest begins to speak, and again, the others turn back toward the gravesite. I stare at Renee, whose grief has turned to wailing. Her sisters, including Wendy, soon follow suit. The priest’s invocations are barely audible over their cries of grief, but since the priest is speaking in Chinese, I suppose it doesn’t really matter whether or not I can hear him.

Finally, the priest stops speaking. Renee and her family each take a handful of earth and toss it into the grave. Each utters a few words in Chinese as they do so. Some, but not all of the other mourners also toss handfuls of earth onto the grave. I look to Renee for some sort of sign, but she does not offer me any. So I don’t step forward, but stand solemnly, my head down.

Anne, the youngest daughter, approaches me. She hands me something white, and then offers me an envelope of red paper. I remember seeing this the time I had been invited to their celebration of the Chinese New Year. The envelope contained money and was meant to help ensure good fortune for the year. The white object was a very soft hand towel. I put it and the red envelope in my purse, not really knowing what to do with it.

Renee is the next to approach me. She is no longer wailing, but the overhead lights reveal tears running down her face. She hugs me, and I awkwardly return the embrace. She whispers to me. “You have to spend the money in the envelope.” I pull away and look at her. “And you have to burn your clothes. To get rid of the bad luck.”

What the hell? This was my favorite suit! The skirt was the perfect length, and the jacket seemed tailor-made for me. And better yet, I’d gotten it for a song at Nordy’s half-yearly sale. There was no way that I would burn it. I manage to get out a single word. “Okay.”

Renee goes back to join her family. I follow her, in order to offer my condolences. The family seems to have formed a receiving line, with Renee’s grandparents in the front of the line, followed by her father, her brothers in order of age, and then Renee and her sisters. I greet each of the Chois in turn, bowing to each and offering my condolences.

Finally, I reach Wendy, the youngest of all of them. She looked different today. Her long black hair hung loose, unfettered even by the hair wraps she usually favored. Even her nose, which usually bore a stud earring of some sort, was left unadorned, and she too had discarded her normally colorful clothes for a modest black dress. I bow to her, and suddenly her eyes go wide with fright. I take a step back, wondering what I had done wrong.

Wendy grabs my hand. “Be careful on your journey.” She warns me. “One seeks to change your destiny, and you are in great danger of losing your soul.”

I pull away as if I’d been burned. I’d heard Wendy’s dire predictions for me before, but this was the first time she said I was actually in any sort of danger. “I’ll be fine. I’m pretty familiar with the graveyard.” I hoped that was enough to placate her, but I already knew that she probably wasn’t talking about my trip back to the car. She lets go of me, and I can feel her eyes on me as I leave the gravesite.

As I drive back to Seattle, I am haunted by Wendy’s words. Who would want to try to change my destiny? I was just a humble underpaid civil servant. All right, so my father had tried to establish my lot in life when I was a teenager, but in the end, I thwarted his plans. No, I am the only one that determines my fate now. My father couldn’t do it when he was alive, and even though he had used his will to try to extend his control over me after death, I found ways around it. For example, he’d made my access to my trust fund contingent upon my becoming a lawyer. And I had become a lawyer, just not the sort that he would have wanted me to be.

No, I wasn’t going to let Wendy’s warning scare me. So to celebrate what was left of my birthday, I went out and got a tattoo. Since my name is Ravenclaw, I decided to have a raven inked onto the small of my back. After all, I hear it’s a symbol of destiny, and it was high time I became mistress of my own fate again. While it hurt like hell, it wasn’t as painful as I thought it might be. But then again, all the guy did was the bird’s outline. I have to wait a few weeks before I can have the rest of it done.