Elegant and simple funerals

It was so hot. I didn’t know what to do with myself. I sat on my sofa directly in front of a double electric fan and decided to watch television. Surfing, searching for something suitable to watch I came across the coverage of Lady Margaret Thatcher’s funeral. I don’t know why but I decided to watch and remained glued for several hours.

Something about British ceremonials grabs me. When I was small, I watched Queen Elizabeth’s coronation on the movie screen. There was no television yet. Then I watched the wedding of Diana and Charles. Then Diana’s funeral. William and Kate’s wedding. Now, the Thatcher funeral.

I, who hate the pomp and pageantry of the Catholic Church, love the pageantry of the British. I don’t think they have pomp in their ceremonies. Pomp, to me, means ostentatious or vain display. Pageantry is a magnificent ceremonial display. That’s what the British have. At this funeral everybody was dressed in black or a dark suit. The women all wore black hats with brims or without, elaborate or plain. The coffin was covered with a British flag and carried on the shoulders of men in different uniforms. On top of the coffin was a beautiful tasteful arrangement  not a wreath  of white roses with a card that read, “To our beloved mother, always in our heart.”  Mark and Carol. The flowers are from Maggie Thatcher’s children. Her granddaughter read something from the Bible. There is in British pageantry always a touch of the personal.

Furthermore the entire ceremony is quiet. The streets are hushed. The church is silent except for the hymns sung and speeches made. Everything is so well organized and runs smoothly and with elegant dignity. Not like here where you have masses on the street so the cortege cannot move. Vendors sell peanuts and water.  Everything is so chaotic.

I don’t know why but watching the Thatcher funeral brought back memories of my uncle’s funeral 14 years ago. He was my mother’s youngest brother, a Jesuit priest. His name was Jose Arguelles Cruz, SJ and he was once president of the Ateneo for 16 years. We called him Tiotots, spelled that way but pronounced Shotots, because his nickname was Toti, but my younger cousin Benny dubbed him Tiotots. We liked the nickname, it slid off our tongues. Then Benny died young, in a motorcycle accident. That made Tiotots a permanent nickname, partly as a tribute to my dearest cousin Benny.

I think he was in his early ’70s when he had a series of strokes over a few years. Then at four o’clock one morning my telephone rang and Pining, one of our family’s reliable maids, told me Tiotots had passed away. I didn’t know what to do because I felt it was too early to call the rest of my cousins. So I fried two eggs, a lot of bacon, heated a baguette and had a huge breakfast alone. I loved him profoundly, but his funeral was unforgettable. It began with a Mass  attended by most of the Jesuits who were his friends  on the third floor of the Jesuit residence. Then I spoke on behalf of his family. Another Jesuit spoke, too. After Mass, we walked out of the chapel tears streaming down our faces. Then we boarded a bus that brought us to the Sacred Heart Novitiate in Novaliches where the all Jesuits are buried, where I remembered going when I was a little girl to visit him with my mother and grandmother.

 It is a beautiful garden with large old trees. I remember one Sunday being there and being suddenly grabbed by my mother who ran frantically away dragging me. “Snake,” she said. “There was a snake on that tree we were under. Did you not see it?”

At Tiotot’s funeral I remember we walked quite a way under the beautiful big trees. It was dusk, the ideal time for a funeral I learned then. I held on to my cousin Toto’s arm. We had both lost our fathers and Tiotots was a father to us. It was a beautiful simple walk at sunset. There was no noise. We were a small group of family and priests. At the end of the walk we were in front of his niche. The Jesuits lined up and took a walk around his coffin. One of them, his very close friend, tapped his coffin and whispered, “I’ll see you soon.”

I don’t know why I am thinking about funerals. Maggie Thatcher’s was a beautiful elegant ceremony. Tiotot’s was simple but also very beautiful for me. I cannot help but wonder  what will my funeral be like? I don’t know. Frankly, I don’t care. I will just sit invisibly at the back and giggle.

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