Uncle Antonio's remembrance was like his funeral: Incredibly full of feminine life. I always knew that he was a truly sought out bachelor, but to anyone having an amount of over sixty unknown beautiful women crying at your grave when you died at forty is a bit too much.
The terms “ashawo” and “waka-waka” were flying around the crowd of his family where I was sitting down and immediately I felt disgusted.
It seemed as though the tears shed amongst the numerous nameless women were more real than the tears shed by our family.
I sighed and looked on in silence. Feeling no pain, unable to take part in the sorrow my uncle's partners shared and unexpectedly finding amusement in some of their crying styles.
“It takes the same amount of energy to laugh that it takes to cry. I believe it takes even less energy. Thus, as I'm an exceptionally lazy person, I'd always choose to laugh and spread joy other than to cry and sow sorrow.” A lesson and mantra my uncle always said.
These women don't get it, he'd hate people crying at his funeral. Although he'd hate someone faking a sob even more. I looked at my eccentric Aunt Margaret rolling on the ground for a man she hadn't seen since he was twelve.
I scanned the crowd of mourners again, looking for my next source of amusement to help pass the time. My eyes latched on to a short woman dressed in black looking at the picture on the casket.
She looked quite average. Her bum didn't look like two watermelons strapped together nor did she have a bust that'll make your eyes pop.
She actually looked quite normal, yet she had this sort of aura that drew me closer. I walked towards this anomaly.
‘A lady from my uncle's past who probably didn't like him?’ Nonsense.. I shook my head banishing the thought. All women liked Antonio, if not for anything for his ability to brighten up your day and make you smile too.
I walked and stood beside her. She looked at me, then looked back at the painting.
“You aren't going to cry?” I asked with the boldness my childish naivete allowed me.
“It takes the same energy to cry that it takes to laugh. So instead of sowing sorrow with cries and sobs, I'd rather choose to laugh and spread joy. Although I've always hated that quote, I can't think of anything but those words. Not surprisingly, it's hard to laugh when looking at the coffin and body of the man you loved.”
I turned to look at the woman. “How do you know that quote?” I asked, the shock evident in my voice.
I was under the impression that he only told me that quote. He promised me that it was our personal mantra.
“It was something Antonio told me on our last call. Seemed like he knew I'd need it. Cancer.. and I didn't see the signs!” Her voice was strained to show the amount of pain she was in.
Still she didn't shed a tear.
“You're a doctor?”
“Yes I am.” She answered softly.
“I see.. You're Chelsea, I guess.”
Her shocked face was all I needed to know I had guessed right.
“He spoke about me?”She asked in shock.
“He couldn't stop speaking about you.. If he'd lived long enough to get married, I bet it would've been you.”
“Who're you?” She asked, now paying more attention to me than the picture.
“I'm Sonia. His favorite niece!” I declared proudly.
“And he talked with you Sonia?” She asked, smiling. I nodded my head in return.
“Well I'm Chelsea, his favorite woman.” She smiled.
“Hello Chelsea.” I said back.
“What did he say about me?” She asked immediately, crouching down to look at me even though I was just at her shoulder level.
“He called you his Chihuahua .” A weird full smile grew on her face and I laughed at her because it looked funny.
“Your uncle Antonio has a weird name giving problem.” She said, trying to explain.
“I know!” I said laughing. “I once checked his phone and I saw different animals and things. There was a Short Potato, Grizzly Bear, Panda, Grumpy Gnome, and a whole lot of other names I can't pronounce.” He said he names the people dear to him by their qualities and what would help him remember them easier.”
“There could be numerous Chelsea's but there's only one Chihuahua.” She replied back laughing.
“I'm bored.” I said out loud. The funeral was dragging too long and the weather was getting hot.
“Want to take turns guessing each woman's names?”Chelsea offered, looking at the women in black crying and sobbing at the casket.
“Have they become even more?” I asked as the numbers seemed to be increasing.
I looked at one woman in particular though, trying my hand at the game Chelsea proposed.
“That woman looks like a panda.” I pointed at a huge woman who looked so soft and feminine that you could hug her and sleep off.
Chelsea laughed at that, “Maybe she is. That woman looks like a potato.”
Chelsea pointed at my eccentric Aunt Margaret who had finally picked herself from the floor and was dirty and brown like a potato.
I laughed at the odd striking resemblance and Chelsea laughed too. We took turns trying to guess the mourners names and even started giving some people names we created ourselves.
After about an hour of laughter and nameforming, my parents called and told me that we were going home.
I hugged Chelsea good-bye and gave her one last laugh in sure measure. She laughed back and waved me off.
Our giggles, laughter and smiles did draw stares from people as we were playing our game of name-forming. Even now my parents keep on eyeing me from the head mirror as we drive back home.
I care not about the stares. We may not have cried, but I know for a fact that nobody mourned Uncle Antonio more than I and his Chihuahua
Sunday of the Dead
This is a german holiday created to honor their dead and lost ones. It's usually celebrated in churches then a visit to the gravesites of the diseased. This year, it falls on today, Sunday, 24th November 2024.
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