Grief as an international language

Well, I went to my first funeral in Doha this week. The father of one of our desk clerk's died suddenly on Monday morning and as Muslim custom is to bury the body within a very short amount of time, our entire staff was thrown into the whirlwind of figuring out what we should do (as westerners, females, males, non-muslims, non-arab muslims, etc - oh the choices). At two PM that day the females followed in a caravan to the desk clerk's home (she lives with her parents and other family members) while the male staff members headed to the mosque and grave site for the burial.

When we arrived at the home, 1) no one there spoke english, so that was awkward 2) there were dozens of shoes outside the door and 3) the desk clerk with whom i work and her sister and mother were not there. we were escorted into a bedroom off of the main living room with two twin and a half sized beds and a small couch where we waited for awhile. After about 15 minutes, i heard what I thought was a child crying, but it was actually the desk clerk and her mother and sister entering the home in desperate grief. It just made your heart ache.

She went around the main room crying and hugging and mostly saying "Allah, Allah, Allah" and speaking arabic or being spoken to in arabic. she then came in our room and the same ritual was followed. she then sat on one of the beds and just wept and repeated "Allah" over and over again to herself. She wore an abaya, but just had the shayla draped over her hair and she was clearly doing her best to just keep it together as her father had died, not only suddenly, but just a few hours before.

While we all sat there in silence as a means of comforting her, it of course led me to think about how fortunate i have been in my life to have not yet lost close (blood) family members. When Curt's grandfather died, it was very sad, but we also had known the writing was on the wall for some time and he had lived a long and good life, even if the lives of people you love are always far too short. I couldn't help but think that while the separation of the men from the women was messed up from my western perspective (there is some concern women will be too hysterical and will upset others if they were to be at the grave site), there was also something rather poetic about this large community of women who were just there to do whatever she would need or want them to do. Some people brought her and her mother and sister water or juice. Some people went over and hugged her or just sat near her. I of course thought of the sad day when i might lose one of my close family members (and curt's dad's recent antics made that memory all too real and fresh for me) which caused me to well up myself from time to time.

I also couldn't help but think, Holy crap! they are burying him so quickly! For me the process of death to burial mentally takes some time and to know that within a few hours of his death, you will NEVER see him again seemed a little too cruel and difficult for me. Even if mortician's can never QUITE get the open casket thing to really look like the person did in real life. Anyway, through this experience, my heart goes out to Shaya and her family. I truly hope our presence gave her just that little bit of support that can help her through this unimaginably difficult time.