Saying Goodbye

My family funeralized my brother, Jaafar, yesterday: a ritual that is meant to mark closure and allow us to return to our lives as best we can, without the loved ones we have lost. On this day, we say goodbye to the  physical being but the spiritual being lives on in our hearts forever. We celebrate the life of those we lost with prayers, flowers, stories and words of encouragement.  It marks new beginnings. And yet, it was by far the most difficult thing I have ever done.

So many thoughts raced through my head, like the fact that this was the first time all 13 of us siblings had been in a room together in as long as I can remember, and that it could never happen again. I realized that as the baby of the family, there lies the potential that I would have to go through this heartache another 11 times. I thought of how much I wanted to be home with my family, in Pittsburgh, and realized how insignificant all the reasons I live so far away from my family truly are. So many thoughts that made me cry. But then there were the memories, the comedic moments people shared about him, the way he touched so many lives, that gave us hope, strength and joy, as we listened and thought about Jaafar.

The ceremony was lovely and encapsulated exactly who my brother was, with people giving testimony after testimony of how he touched their lives. His daughter read a letter for her father saying all the things we never think to say at her age, because we expect to have our parents forever. My sister wrote a poem which perfectly captured how we all saw Jaafar. I read my last blog entry aloud, with my eldest son, who Jaafar helped raise, by my side. Then we had "open mic" and allowed loved ones to share their thoughts and feelings with us. There must have been a few hundred people who came to pay their respects and it was evident that we all had a special relationship with him. It was so interesting to hear some of the things that I never knew: stories from before I was born or was too young to remember, and even some things he probably intended for us not to know. Everyone talked about the impact he made on their lives and spoke about his special gifts and talents. It was amazing to see such an outpouring of love.

Yet, as beautiful and heartfult (and humorous) as every story was, nothing was more touching and meaningful than what happened at the cemetery. It was beautiful to see my cousin walk around the casket seven times (symbolizing completion) in family tradition, it was beautiful that my 81 year old father lead us in prayer. It was touching that each of the remaining siblings placed a rose for my brother and that doves were released to symbolize finding peace. But nothing I have ever seen could have prepared me for what would happen next.

As I tearfully watched my big brother lowered into the ground, and the vault sealed our 12 roses inside, a groundskeeper began to back the loader towards the gravesite in preparation to fill the grave with earth. One of my brothers motioned to him to stop, and picked up a shovel that was lying nearby. He began to fill the grave himself. Before long another brother grabbed a shovel, followed by another. The three of them began passing the shovels to each of my seven remaining brothers, then to my eldest son. With such love and such pride on his face, tears streaming, he covered his uncle's grave with dirt before passing the shovel to the other men in the family. Each of my brothers, my father, cousins, uncles, nephews, neighbors, friends, each of my sons and even my great nephew: Jaafar's  4 year old grandson completely filled the grave. The men who loved my brother most buried him. The groundskeeper himself became overcome with emotion and said he had never seen anything like it before. These strong men, both young and old, in suits and loafers, with sweat on their brows and tears in their eyes honored my brother like a king, and it was  a beautiful sight to behold.  This act was a true act of both strength and love. An act- unparalleled by any other I have ever witnessed before.  It was a true testament  to the man that my brother was: a man that earned respect by the way that he  loved.

My great-nephew, burying his grandfather, with help from my brother and cousin.

Sometimes, we are fortunate enough to say our loved ones lived a long life, or at least find peace that their suffering has come to an end. But when someone is taken so suddenly, those peaceful thoughts are more difficult to come by. My brother wasn't suffering, nor did he live a long life. But in the time he had here, my God did he live, and even more so did he love! May we all love and be as loved as he.

I love you, Jaafar. You were the best of all of us.