One grandmother, Tai Bou; one grandfather, Tai Jone; two cousins, Teri and Josh; three uncles, Miki, Henry and Sai; three aunts, Tuvou, Mere, and Mereseini. These are those who have died this year. So far. I hope they are the last.
From all these, I could only attend two funerals, that of Aunty Mere, and Aunty Mereseini. I would have attended Cousin Teri’s funeral had I not gotten ill; I stayed behind and babysat Laiye instead.
We are entitled to take only three days of bereavement leave in a year here. I don’t know whether that means that we are limited to mourn for only three days, or that we are allowed to attend only three funerals. How are we, how is anyone, supposed to grieve properly when we have to return to work so suddenly and ‘be professional’?
The work-life balance seems to favour work. I now have only half a day of bereavement leave left. I hope I will not need it.
In a Fijian funeral service, a eulogy is expected from your father’s side of the family as well as from your mother’s side. Either an uncle, a cousin, or a chosen representative will speak for each side, and tell of your good deeds and sparkling personality. Things you might never hear spoken about you while you were alive. All good things, great even. In all my years, I’ve never heard a negative eulogy. I wonder if people are truly afraid of speaking ill of the dead. And in church too.
With so many relatives lost this year, I wonder about the things that survive us. Who survive us, surely, our loved ones, and the friendship and relationships we leave behind but more than that, deeper, the what of us we leave in them.
Is it our joy, our willingness to help, our kindness? Is it our hardworking side, our professionalism? Is it our tendency to be everything to everyone, our attentiveness?
Those who eulogised Aunty Mere and Aunty Mereseini commended their love for their families, their charity, and professionalism. All now left behind. Legacy was mentioned a lot, but I wonder what is the foundation of any legacy. What do you base your legacy on?
If you gave all your money to the poor, say to the beggars and the homeless in Nadi Town, and all you had left was your faith in Jesus Christ and your relationship with Him, would your family still call that your legacy?
If you didn’t help any of your relatives but gave anonymously to the local orphanage, and to others who are in real need but have no idea who you are, would that still be countered in your favour?
Is our legacy only the things that benefit those who eulogise us when we die? Things seen and measured?
Whose accounting of our lives ultimately matters? Those who survive us, or the One Who will wake us from the dead? What legacy then to leave behind?
Maybe those who delivered the eulogies took it for granted that the dead were faithful followers of the Lord Jesus. Maybe they thought that no one needed to be reminded of it, that the two were professing Christians was good enough. That they were kind, charitable women was proof enough.
I wonder what they will say for one such as I, someone who prefers a quiet life pursuing an even deeper relationship with God and with Christ Jesus our Lord and Saviour. Someone who prefers the stillness and simplicity of a garden, books and writing to the loud, gossip-fueled sessions around a kava mix, or whatever else that now passes for socialising here.
I wonder if three days would be too much, or not enough.