Nothing Like a good Funeral

I am going to a funeral service tomorrow. My first funeral service on the island. The deceased is the mother of one of the ladies from my Girls' Night Out Group (the GNOG).

The first funeral I remember was my maternal grandmother's. I was 11 years old. Lola Ipay was the only grandparent I got to know; all the others died before I got to meet them. I don't remember very much about her except that she seemed to be always immaculately coiffed and smiling. She usually had a bottle of Green Cross rubbing alcohol on hand. Her mission was to disinfect the world.

When Lola was sick and had to be hospitalized, there was a sense of festivity with all the family members gathering in the hospital. There were so many of us that we spilled out from her room into the hallways and the cafeteria. My mother was so concerned with her own mother's health that she practically forgot me as I was swept into a sea of cousins.

When Lola died, her body laid in state in a huge stone church in Quezon City. Large funeral wreaths lined the entire chapel. I remember there was one festooned with a ribbon announcing condolences from President and Mrs. Ferdinand Marcos (this was before she became Madame). The wake lasted for days and days. So many people came to pay respects. It was like a super-party. Everyone I knew and was related to gathered in one place.... with lots of prayer.... and food.

Then, all the adults had to go to Medina for the burial. So all the children were left in one cousin's house. The idea was that we should not miss more school. The parents went in two separate airplanes so that if any plane went down, there would be one parent left. We were under strict instruction to continue praying everyday. It was a giant sleepover interrupted by rosaries.

Lola was buried and all the parents came home... and life eventually returned to normal. But ever since, I've always enjoyed a good funeral.