The dark sunglasses provide some privacy to one’s emotions. Still, even those barriers are insufficient to keep in the feelings of loss when one remarkable person leaves this earth.
Antonio’s burial was the first burial I have been to. All other funerals I have attended have been cremations. It was surreal, feeling almost like in a movie, when you gather around in a circle and see this casket being placed on two straps. As you look around at faces, you see a big dark void where you would hope to gain some understanding, some hope, just any kind of human message, from the eyes of people around you. Those eyes hide behind the sunglasses.
As I looked at the wooden box, I could not help but think that Antonio, a huge guy, was suddenly placed into this tiny box. It must be pretty cramped in there.
“I invite you all to step a little closer,” said the funeral director.
She was quite a pretty girl. I suppose in such times of grief, it makes the process of getting direction a little easier if it originates from a soothing presence. She too was wearing sunglasses. I can’t begin to imagine how this girl, who looked in her late 20’s must feel under those glasses. Either she is torn inside, seeing people grieve for their loss almost every day, or she is completely detached from her emotion.
After a blessing by the priest, the crucifix on the casket was removed and given to the family. I was surprised it was removable: it was held on by sticky tack.
While the family did shed tears in the church, as Antonio made his trek outside for his final ride, nothing hurts more than the final moments when you know it is the last you will ever see of someone. That smile, that laughter, that familiar comfort all will be buried under a mound of dirt, never to be dug up again.
Friends and family gazed upon the wooden box for one last time. A beautiful mahogany box, lit by brilliant sunshine and adorned with flowers. Once a big man with a big smile who was “just a big kid” according to one of my teammates, would soon be lowered and become a part of the earth again in time. From dust to dust.
The ability of the dark glasses saw it’s limit in hiding emotion as one by one, friends and family took turns sharing their memories.
My eyes in plain view of the public, I battled back the drops of water that threatened to fall out from my eyes.
We were then asked to step back ten feet. The ground crews had to make their way in. It was the final goodbye.
Every inch the box was lowered, those final moments become more precious. The crying louder, the tears flowed faster.
When the box finally reached bottom, a pair of beautiful ladies walked over to the side and picked up a stalk of flowers each. They stood by the side of the freshly dug grave, crying, giving even one more last goodbye. I believe they were his teammates on another dragonboat team.
Family then followed in their lead, picking flowers and tossing them into the grave.
“I really love you, I will miss you,” said his sister as she broke down and cried.
I tilted my head back. No tears, not now.
Had I known it was a burial, or the customs that go along with it, I would have gathered water from Sunnyside beach, the heart of dragonboating in Ontario, to place in the grave with Antonio. It would have been quite the symbolic gesture for a dragonboater.
We began to receive a light touch of rain, making the atmosphere even more surreal. Water spitting from the heavens against a bright sunny sky. Blessings from the heavens I suppose.
I watched as people filed by, not really having the courage to join the line myself. From the crowd, I see the team captain walk over. Inspired, I join the line behind my captain.
Antonio was a manly guy. I was hoping for the least girly flower as my final farewell to him. The funeral director starts to replenish the supply of flowers in her hand. She pulls a yellow rose, a white one, various other flowers, then a giant sunflower.
“Not the sunflower,” I said in my mind. Antonio wouldn’t like to receive that from me. Not even at this time.
I walk to the front of the line and the funeral director hands me my flower. A red rose. Not quite what I had hoped for, but much better than the sunflower.
As I walked up to the edge of the grave, I noticed how dark it was inside. A dark box in a dark hole with flowers littered all around it. I expected it to look magnificent somehow, but it looked just like I described.
I said my final farewell to Antonio.
“I hope there’s this huge dragonboat festival in Heaven and you’re in the engine room of one of the boats! Paddle hard to get there!” were my posthumous words of encouragement to my teammate.
I paused for a moment to choose between dropping the flower or tossing it in. I wanted it to land in a beautiful way, somehow hoping my flower would enhance the beauty of that dark hole with a mess of random flowers. I tossed it towards the middle.
It lands head first right the main bouquet of flowers, just about right in the middle of the casket, stem up. Ugh, sorry Antonio, I tried though.
I walked to the side, had a moment of silence, then joined the rest of the teammates who had gathered together.
“Do you have a paddle in your car Edison?” one teammate asked my captain.
“No,” was the disappointed reply.
Flowers were nice, but something like a paddle, or lake water would’ve been quite symbolic.
We shared a couple of minutes together then I bade them farewell. As I didn’t paddle this season, I didn’t get to see them much. What a crappy circumstance for a reunion.
As I made my way back to my car, I remembered “Mushu”, the little stuffed dragon that was given to the captains a few years back at the Toronto festival.
“Mushu must still be in my car!” I thought enthusiastically. Sure enough, a little sun worn stuffed dragon was sitting on the back of my car.
If there is any way to spice up a dark hole you will spend eternity in, a bright red and yellow stuffed dragon for a companion definitely would add some comfort. Moreover, it was the only dragonboat item I could get my hands on at that moment.
I raced back to the site only to find they had covered the opening. Excited, I showed Edison the dragon and he said they would probably re-open the grave for me to toss Mushu in. Afterall, they just put planks over it and it wasn’t filled.
Bolting over to the ground crew, I requested they let me toss Mushu into the grave. Unfortunately, in my excitement, I did not think to let Edison do the honours. I wished Mushu and Antonio well, got them acquainted and in went the little dragon.
In retrospect, I think it would’ve been much more symbolic if Edison tossed Mushu in to keep Antonio company. Althought I did it as a general gesture to symbolize dragonboat memories, I’m sure having the captain toss it in on behalf of the team would have held greater meaning.
Well, I hope Mushu keeps Antonio good company.
Edison, always calm and cool, lifts his dark glasses for a moment. I notice his eyes were puffy.
Rest in peace Antonio. Paddle hard!
