Contrasting Cultures

  On my recent trip to China, I was able to experience a solemn occasion. That of visiting the resting place of a relative, in the Buddhist tradition.

  We left my sister-in-laws house in a rented mini van with hired driver. The trip took about an hour, as the roads were a series of potholes, some the size of bomb craters. Many of these half full of water from recent rains.

  We arrived and bought stacks of paper, a cardboard Mahjong game, a package with a cardboard cell phone and some other items I cannot recall. On top of that, about a thousand firecrackers.

  We entered a walkway with statues of each of the animals found in Chinese astrology. Ahead of us were some of the most beautiful buildings I had seen so far. Near twenty stories tall, with a balcony at each level, covered by the "traditional" roof, upturned at each of eight to ten points around the circular structure.

  Upon entering the building, we placed  the gifts and fireworks beside the door. We walked into an elevator, went to the ninth floor. The doors opened and I saw columns spaced throughout the room. An attendant brought over a ladder, rolling it on wheels, and placed it beside one of the columns.

  My neice climbed up, about seven feet, and opened a rectangular door of dark hardwood. She reached in and started dusting the items the niche contained, handing some down to family members. She dusted other items and replaced them.

  My mother-in-law told me she was destined for the space next to her husband. I did not understand the words, but the meaning was clear.

  We left the building, collecting the gifts as we departed.

  There is a wall with names listed on it. Gray concrete, with a shelf to place a small wooden frame with a photograph of our family member. We lit incense and place it in some sand on the shelf. We lit more, holding it before us, bowed three times before the photo, placing our sticks beside the framed picture.

  We burned the gifts, money for him to spend, Mahjong for entertainment, and the cell phone package so he could call my father, as my daughter informed me. My family chatted while the fire consumed these items, sometimes laughing as they shared pleasant memories. Other times solemn, and respectful.

  I told my mother, she is now, as the Chinese seem not to have words for in-laws, that he must have been a good man. She understood my incredibly bad Chinese, and nodded, sadness in her eyes. He passed away just before I met my wife.

  My brother set off the firecrackers. A few more moments and the items were replaced, with the same care and dignity as when they were removed.

  Another hour down the mountain and lunch.

  I took no pictures. I felt it would be disrespectful of my fathers memory. Of my family I have come to love.