Thursday, July 28, 2005

Young Death, Short Lives

Last night I supported my friend while she and her family mourned the shooting death of her 24 year old nephew at the local funeral home. I really have no reference in my life for what I experienced and witnessed there last night. All the funerals in my family have been the elderly, dead after a long life, mourned by equally long-lived and elderly family members. I don't know of any young deaths, by any cause, in my family.
Yet....Anyone can imagine that the worst pain is the death of a child. And the worst of that type of pain must be the theft of that child's life by a senseless, unsolved murder. Add to it that this child was charming, charismatic, albeit a rascal, worrisome to his mother for his lifestyle but loving and jovial, helpful and funny to all.
This was the type of child my friend's nephew apparently was. I gathered this impression of his life and personality by the dominantly young crowd of sobbing mourners there. The moans of the inconsolable, weeping, sobbing mother. The flailing and screams of his overwhelmed over-wrought sisters. The silent weeping of his 5 months pregnant girlfriend; prostrate over his corpse; her fingers tenderly tracing his face, hairline, neck, eyes. The many, many young men dressed in new black T-shirts emblazoned with his smiling face; ear pressed to cell phone; sparkling eyes engaging the picture taker; complexion flush and alive; a severe contrast to the dull brownish gray of his corpse.
The usual parade of mourners passing a casket, giving their last respects did not happen here. Everyone who viewed the boy stood in a stunned semi-circle around the casket, staring, taking cell phone snapshots; grim-faced men and boys, red-eyed weeping women and girls. The young stood stock still. The old wove in an out of the crowd of the young; unable to take more than a few minutes in the presence of a corpse so young, so tragically gone.
Then there was a burst of incongruous laughter from the vicinity of the casket.
I overheard this,
"Over there, she's saying all the shit 'Foca' used to say."
Then,
"Sabina needs to getup from there too. She's pregnant."
And,
"Se va a Santo Domingo, right?"
So many tattoos in elegant tribal tracery on shoulders, arms, and small of backs. So many sunglasses, gold jewelry. Everyone in white or black. On everyone's face the expressions of stunned confusion. No answers, no eulogy, no one able to give strength or make releasing or relieving connections. But also, no angry outbursts. The rosary was started and most made the droning responses.
Some time later came the end of the funeral home hours. A simple thank you to the crowd from two male family members and a last look by the mother, the girlfriend, the sisters and others, all freshly wailing. Finally, the young grim-faced men burst into tears and gathered in clumps outside to listen to rap music blasted from SUV's parked in front.
Such short lives they are choosing...
In room A, next to the funeral of this young man, another funeral. Apparently for a poet, a man middle aged, a cultural icon. I didn't write down his name but his nickname I think was Yamasa. I'm not sure. There were banners and articles posted on the outer wall. I didn't have time and presence of mind to read or copy names. He was much mourned too. We heard the pain, the screams, the moans. What might this poet have thought about the ironic juxtaposition of his funeral with this tragic youth's own? Could he have made any relieving connections or given anyone strength? What could he have said?

Friday, July 08, 2005

My, My.....

Only one blog entry in 2005 and this is the second. The topic of the day is the attack on London but I will not belabor it too long. The first reaction is the certainty that it will happen here in New York, and soon. Next is knowing that Ari travels through the heart of this city at the precise optimal time for terrorist attack every day on his way to college. The mind and heart goes out to the victims of this latest attack and at the same moment cycles through and wieghs numerous strategies to avoid the same inevitable future here. Should I have my son transfer to a college in the Bronx so that we both have no reason to travel through that future ground zero? This is now the sad paranoid reality of living in any big city with a large public transportation system. How to live in the city and yet avoid it? Well that's it for now.