a borrowed place

For dust become dust, we return to the beginning of where we came from.

My father’s body is being cremated as I am writing this post. Luckily, with modern technology and wi-fi, I was able to receive photos from my niece of my father’s funeral procession. Somehow these less-than-desirable quality photos become so precious to me; they make me feel closer to where he is, while being half the world apart. One of my unforgivable regrets was not being physically able to be there to đeo tang, wearing a strip of white cloth on my head and prostrate in front of his casket. This regret will consume me for a long time.

My aunt and a few cousins are doing đeo tang in place of my siblings and me.

There is one particular photo that will haunt me, perhaps for the rest of my life I will never take it out of my mind — It’s his lifeless body laying on the divan awaiting for the initial funeral procedure. This image will also consume me with guilt for a long time. (I am not posting this particular photo anywhere on social media.)

The cousins are keeping him company through the three-day-two-night funeral.

His body is taking the final trip on this earth before going to the crematory.

At the crematory; the final ceremony was performed while waiting for his ashes.

His death tablet and ashes will be brought back to a local Buddhist temple close to where my aunt currently lives. He will be comforted by the daily Buddhist chant and bells.

This is a hard post for me to write…

Mr. O and the boys took me to a nearby Buddhist Monastery earlier today. I made a donation in his name and prayed for him.

I don’t know the right way to grieve…(Is there a right way for it?) and just follow my intuition to mourn his death my own ways.

Ba đi thanh thản nha Ba!