My Uncle’s Funeral

As I opened the door to walk into my house, I noticed the atmosphere felt a little different, it felt heavy. I had seen my parents’ cars outside, so I knew they were home, but there was so much silence that I became aware of my own breathing. I could hear my feet hit the ground step by step fearing that I was about to receive some very bad news. The door of my parents’ room was closed, and I stood there just looking at it. The small spots that contrasted against the white color of the door became noticeable to me as I stopped to distract myself from the bad feeling I had. Before knocking on the door, I decided to press my ear against the door to see if I could hear something. There was a very low whisper that was shapeless, there were hardly any words in it. My method was not successful, so I opted for the most practical way, going inside.

I held my closed fist in front of the door for what to me seemed like hours, but it must have been just a few seconds. My heart was beating very fast and it seemed to be the background music for the dramatic anticipation. I finally knocked, softly, maybe they were asleep, maybe this is all just my teenage drama fantasy that I lived in that was making me feel uneasy.

“Coming” I heard. I heard the movement of feet walking toward the door and it did not give me enough time to prepare mentally. “Hi mija, I see you got home early” my mother opened the door enough for me to see her face, but it looked like she was hiding something. Her face was a little dead, it did not show emotion like it usually does. “Is everything ok?” I said, “Come in” my father’s voice sounded lower than normal. “We need to go to Santa Eulalia, pack your stuff.” Santa Eulalia was an old, small town that I grew up in. My parents decided to move to where my brother and I could have a better future, since there is no school past sixth grade in the town, and most men dedicated their lives to mining at a young age, women became housewives, and after long enough there was no escape from there. My brother stayed in Santa Eulalia, he was in love with it and had some sort of romantic way of looking at it, something about the beautiful twilights and the beautiful air that you could breathe in it. To me, he was crazy.

All these thoughts were running through my mind when I finally asked “Why? What is happening?” My father looked down and it seemed as if the words he was about to say were flames that would burn his mouth and hurt him. He closed his eyes very tight and said “your uncle Santos is dead.”

I was quiet, I did not know what to say to my dad, I never really knew my uncle Santos. I had not seen him in so many years, but he was still my dad’s brother. “Oh my God, dad I am so sorry.” He could not really speak, he zoned out completely, so I decided to go to my room and start getting my stuff ready. It was going to be a long trip.

I was kneeling down with a pile of clothes on the floor of my room, folding every piece of clothing carefully, at the same time I thought about my uncle Santos. Sometimes, when I think of something I think of it in colors, it might sound weird, but if something is happy and pretty it is pink or a very warm color, when I thought of my uncle, I could only see dark colors.

When I was a little girl, my uncle decided to go on an “adventure.” It sounded amazing in my eight year old mind, but it was only when I grew up that I realized that my parents called it an adventure just to make it sound pretty. In reality, my uncle was running away from his problems. I heard my father saying that he did not want to be present for my grandma’s death, that it would be too much pain for him. I heard that he was depressed and did not know what to do with his life, so he decided one day to just take his bike and leave. After that we saw him two more times, and then never.

My uncle lived with my grandma, he had a big room for himself. I remember being a very little girl and passing by his room when my brother and I played in my grandma’s house. He did not have a door, he only had a lot of blankets hanging from a pole. It was one of the scariest places in the world. My father asked me to go say hi to my uncle once, so I went in his room, it was the first time and also the last time I would be there.

The room was like a big cave, as I opened the blankets with my tiny hands, a very strong smell hit my little nostrils. It smelled liked old milk on a hot day. It was hard to see anything because it was dark and dusty. The atmosphere was very dense and a giant, dark silhouette stood up, I looked up, opened my mouth and raised my eyebrows with surprise, and then fear started running through my veins, it was a monster, a horrible creature that could break the floor with his heavy steps. I ran to my dad’s arms and cried uncontrollably. After that, I was never forced to say hi to him and every time I visited grandma, I could only see a shadow moving rapidly into the dark room, like a ghost.

We were on our way to Santa Eulalia, a six hour trip from the city into the country, I really wanted to see my brother. I felt so lonely because my parents seemed to be consumed by the news. The tall buildings started turning into trees and the concrete into green fields, sometimes I forget that there is a whole different world just a few hours away from the city.

I found myself staring out the window and thinking about my uncle once again. I tried to remember more things about him, but there were only stories and not actual encounters. I once visited my childhood friend, Danna. We have known each other our whole lives, and her grandmother lived only two houses away from mine, so our families were very close. I went into her kitchen looking for her and I found her with her father talking and laughing. Her father was a quiet man, but every time he opened his mouth it was to make us laugh with a witty comment. “Have you seen your uncle Santos?” he asked, “No, he hasn’t even called like he used to” he looked up and his expression softened, “Ah Santos, he was crazy” then he told me one of his stories. He told me that when my father and he were teenagers, there was this guy who they called “Piolo” and he liked to mess with the younger boys of the neighborhood. They were all hanging out like a typical summer day playing with a hose trying to battle the heat, when Piolo appeared and started punching their arms and taking the hose away from them. He was laughing and enjoying himself torturing the kids.

My uncle was tired of seen him bullying everybody, but he was not scared of him, because his craziness was better than Piolo’s strength. My dad and Danna’s dad were on the floor getting punched and hosed by Piolo when they saw my uncle holding a sock in his hand. The sock seemed to be wet, and my uncle started swinging it around and running toward Piolo, when he reached him he started slapping him with the sock. The bully lost his balance and fell, he was staring at my uncle and then he started sniffing. He opened his eyes as if he had just figured something out and the he screamed “Ewww! This is fucking piss!” He ran away with anger, but he was never seen bullying my dad or his friends. Danna’s father got lost in his memories after the story, one of the only memories I would have of my father’s brother.

I could tell we were getting close to Santa Eulalia by the way the houses looked. Little houses that were all clumped together painted with bright colors that had gotten opaque with the years. The air was fresh and there was grass everywhere. The sky was starting to look orange announcing the arrival of the sunset. We got to my brother’s house which was spacious and very warm. My brother opened his arms and I ran to him, but the hug was very small since his duty was now to give a long comforting hug to my dad.

It had been a long day, so I fell asleep on the couch as soon as I sat down. I was deeply asleep when a desperate shake woke me up and startled me. I opened my eyes and my heart was beating very fast, it was my mom who had been trying to wake me up in a softer way. When my heart finally settled, I realized that the environment was even heavier than the day before, it was the day of the funeral.

We met my family at the funeral home and they prayed and cried, but then when everything was calmer, there were normal conversations like in a normal day.

My dad disappeared all of a sudden, so I went looking for him. The room where my uncle’s coffin was had been full of people with prayers all day, but now everyone was outside taking a break to eat and catch with the family, that is when my dad went in to have some time with his brother. I found him with his chest pressed against the edge of the coffin, he was like a little who wanted comfort, his tears started coming out little by little only sounds of pain came out of his mouth. His hands were touching the coffin as if he was trying to heal my uncle’s suffering. I had never seen him cry before. After a few minutes, he stood up and touched the coffin for the last time, then he smiled and said “thank you for everything, buddy.” I got away from the scene before he could see me, then it was my turn to go in.

In that intimate moment of looking at my uncle, I realized how fragile he looked, which was weird because he once was the monster of my nightmares, but now he was there, laying, no more depression, no more suffering. And at last my uncle stopped being just a ghost or a dark color in my head, he was a crazy stranger who was frail like everybody else, and I finally let the tears of empathy run down my cheeks.