Something wonderful happened on the Way to Her Mom’s Second Burial
In parts of SE Asia and Southern China, there is a cultural tradition of second burial, where the bodies of deceased family members are exhumed after a couple of years, the bones placed in an ossuary and reinterred in a family burial plot. My wife, Giao, usually does not prepare me well for surprises and this was no exception; she informed me the day of the ceremony that she would need my support as they would be handling both her father and sister at the same time since they had died only a month apart. Of course, I immediately agreed to do whatever she needed me to do and made myself available. She informed me that the deed must be done after sunset and that the bones must be reburied before midnight, so we would be spending the evening in a graveyard.
At dusk, I found myself at the cemetery. While a dozen or so relatives huddled in small groups talking somberly, I was assigned to oversee the digging up of my wife’s sister Tuyet’s grave. The surrealness of it all was accentuated by my inability to banish Randy Travis’ country western hit song, “Diggin’ up Bones” from my mind.
As they plucked Tuyet’s bones from the soggy grave by lantern light, the nervous chatter in my mind picked up, as I realized that I’d never before actually seen the bones of someone I knew and I was greatly discomfited. Suddenly, my seven year old daughter HP’s voice broke through my thoughts, “Daddy, are those mommy’s bones?” I felt a sudden panic, wondering if she should be seeing any of this — shouldn’t she be with the other relatives? I wondered if this was some kind of child abuse — where is my wife? Help! But there was nothing I could do — HP was already standing there, looking at the bones, asking me about her mother’s remains. “Yes, I think so,” I stammered, quickly leading her back to the group of relatives — away from the disturbing bones.
When I returned the attendants were already cleaning the bones with stiff brushes and water jets, ridding them of any clinging bits of hair and remnants of decayed flesh. Then they dried the bones and reverentially placed then in their proper positions in the ossuary, swaddling them in a red silk robe with gold trim, and adorning the skull with a silk cap. The man knew he was handling the bones of a young woman and he paused running his fingers over the cancer scarred pelvic bone sadly shaking his head. It was all done with the utmost care and respect.
We had an hour long bus ride to the final burial plot. Tuyet’s bones lay at my feet and HP sat in my lap. I had little leg room and felt cramped, so I raised my foot to rest it on the bone box, but realized my mistake before actually touching it — I flushed at the thought that I had almost rested my feet on someone’s bones! HP’s voice again interrupted my thoughts, “Daddy, is mommy in Heaven now?” With Tuyet’s bones at our feet, this seemed a very poignant question.
“Yes, HP, your mom knew about Jesus and I believe she accepted him as her savior, so she is in Heaven now,” I said with a lump in my throat.
“Daddy, where is heaven, and where is Hell?” She didn’t need a theological explanation, I thought — she wants to know where her mom is. I silently prayed that I would say the right thing.
“Well, Baby, Heaven and Hell are not like places we can drive or fly to, like Hanoi, or Da Nang or Ho Chi Minh City. You know when you feel safe and secure and full of joy and happiness?” She nodded. “Well, that’s what Heaven is like. And you know when you feel afraid and guilty and ashamed?” Another nod, looking downward. “I think that’s what Hell is like.”
She thought about that for a moment and then said, “Daddy, sometimes mommy makes me feel like Heaven and sometimes she makes me feel like Hell.”
I smiled at this, remembering her sometimes stern mother. I felt I needed to respond to her, so I said, “I think that’s because mommy wanted to give you little taste of Heaven so you would WANT to go there — and a little taste of Hell so you would NOT WANT to go there.”
That seemed to satisfy her completely (to my great relief). She then flashed me a toothy smile and said, “Daddy, you always make me feel like Heaven.” With that she nuzzled her face into my chest and instantly fell asleep.
I often think back on that day. I could have easily missed that precious moment. I didn’t want to go there; I didn’t want to be there. If I could have thought of an escape, I probably would have taken it, but, thankfully, I didn’t — I rode it out. And there, in the midst of that strange and uncomfortable circumstance, I found a beautiful memory that I could keep in my heart forever. It’s like a delicate flower that never dies or withers or gets lost, and it never fails to bring a tear to my eye — it’s a like a bitter-sweet taste of Heaven on Earth; I cherish it, and I’m so thankful that I did not turn away or try to escape. Now, I realize that such flowers are indeed rare and are only to be found in such places, so I try my best to keep my eyes and ears open and not turn my face away, even when life becomes difficult or my circumstances unpleasant. It seems that it’s God’s practice not to leave His gems in plain sight, but to hide them where only the intrepid can find them.
