The day of the burial was bright and sunny and we were all donned with the appropriate black. Keeping in mind my mother in laws humble nature, I wore a black skirt and minimal jewelry and makeup. The service would begin at the church where she congregated all her life. The service was scheduled for ten so hubby and I were on the road by nine thirty it was a good fifteen to twenty minutes from the hotel. When we left the town of Aguadilla and drove into the small town of Moca, we realized that the traffic was bumper to bumper!!!!
Today of all days there seemed to be hundreds of cars. Because we were in a small town there was no honking, flipping the bird or cussing, so unlike your average traffic demeanor in Brooklyn. Drivers just seemed to drive slowly without making a fuss but my stomach was aching at the thought that we might miss the church service. Traffic was unusual around these parts so neighbors came out of their houses and stared at the traffic, puzzled. The cows stood as close to the barbed wire that protected them from the gravel road as they could. They also knew this amount of traffic was unusual. It was no help that every turn that we had to make was preceded by the same row of cars and then it finally dawned on me. "Could all these people be headed for the church too?", I asked and hubby admitted, "This could all be for Mama."
So we calmed down and sure enough when we reached our destination the rows of cars were seeking parking spots. The church parking lot was filled to capacity and neighbors were signaling all other drivers to use their driveways, which they offered up so readily. So we parked in a strangers lot.
Small towns:)
There was music blaring as we approached the church. Later I found out it was Mamas favorite hymn Beyond the Clouds-Mas Halla Del Sol.
This was a personal request for her funeral. I also found out she paid for her entire burial and had her outfit especially made by her daughter Miriam. When we arrived before the doors of the church, Mamas casket was before us and was ready to be brought in.
Amazing Grace now played, as my hubby and the other late arrivers marched slowly and reverently behind her until we reached available seating.
She was placed before the altar, casket opened and the pastor began to speak the usual funeral speak. There were women dressed in white who stood guard on each side of the casket and every now and then would change guard with other women who were sitting at the pews also dressed in white.
Sofia's grandaughter, hubby's niece, Johanny read the geneology and some anecdotes about Mama Sofia. There were tears, lots of them. Then the Pastor called each adult child of Sofia by name, to approach the casket, and say their final goodbyes.
But before that my hubby, the only pastor in the family shared some thoughts and biblical verses, then he reminded his siblings not to forget their father who still needed them. Father and Mama were divorced after he tried to cut her arm off with a machete, that'll do it. The scar ran from her wrist to just below her elbow. Why mention this? Because, about seven years ago, he gave his heart to Christ and has been a changed man ever since.
On her death bed Mama asked him for forgiveness and he broke down and sobbed like a baby saying that he should be the one asking for forgiveness. They both cried and held each other for a while.
Many of the children had not spoken to their father for years because of his abusive nature and so when the pastor asked Jose (the father) to stand by his wife's casket, it was a bit awkward. The pastor started with the oldest son, Jose jr. and his wife Maria and thier four children, Maritza, Lizbet, Chono and Macho (yes macho). They went forward and said their goodbyes with much tears.
Each of the seventeen brothers and sister, (the seventeen surviving adult children of Mama Sofia) and their families were called, some took the time to embrace their father as a sign that he was forgiven and he embraced them back and held his head humbly down, you could sense that he was very appreciative of the show of affection while at the same time very ashamed of his past actions.
When it was our turn...Johanny read, "Angel and his wife Debra. They have three children Sofia, Debbie and Angelica and their grandson Jacob." With that, we arose from the pew where we sat, waiting to say our final goodbyes and I lost it and started sobbing.
Hubby and I walked hand in hand to Mama, who laid in peace. I touched her ice cold hands expecting to feel warmth for some reason, but their was no life and so obviously no warmth in the hands that consoled me in the past and who held them towards her in prayer. The warm hands that held my three children and my grandson, her great grandson. The same warm hands that embroidered little outfits for my girls and made them cheese pastellillos when they were hungry. These hands were so cold and lifeless.
We returned to our seats and the service continued. Her great grandaughter, a soprano, sang ha hymn. She sounded like an angel. It was beautiful.
The casket was closed and then rolled out of the church and into the hearst and driven away to the burial site.
There was a caravan of over forty cars with just family not including friends and even the Mayor of Moca, (her hometown) The caravan was led by a police motorcade courtesy of the four grandchildren who worked for the police department. Her favorite song blasted from the car especially equipped with huge speakers to play her favorite hymn as we drove across town to the cemetary.
This time as we passed homes neighbors came out and held their heads down with reverance. There was mention of her death in the papers because she had made history as the only woman who bore twenty children, seventeen still living in the town of Moca.
At the burial sight, I stood amazed at the beauty that surrounded her. She was to be buried on a small hill , lush with bright green perfectly manicured grass overlooking beautiful mountains. Among the dignified tears were birds singing and a nice cool breeze.
My hubby was a pall bearer and seeing him carrying his mother was touching and I know it must have been very difficult for him.
The next day hubby and I returned, alone, to say our final goodbyes.
He spoke to Mama and I stepped back to give him his space and time with her. The flowers arranged on her grave were beginning to fade and dry. There was a vase of flowers that toppled over. Hubby picked it up and placed it on the foot of the gravesight began to straighten the ribbons containing the names of the loved ones. He cried again and said goodbye.
He is not sleeping much these days and tells me he has a big hole in his heart. I understand the loss of a parent so I know what he is talking about. How different the world suddenly becomes. It is so different and the emptiness is so obvious. I tell him that he'll never... not miss her but the pain does get easier to deal with but for now it is still very raw and it will take time.
I know the holidays to come will be hard and every milestone that he cannot share with his mother will be bittersweet. Time does ease the pain but it doesnt heal it but God certainly does provide us with a peace that passes all understanding and an enormous strength to see us through.
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