A Eulogy: Transcending Time and Space
What familial ties are like across borders.
My earliest memories of my grandfather date to a time before my birth, told through the words of my mother. He sat her down comfortably and talked about this and that, everything and also nothing with a set agenda, but weaving in bits of spiritual wisdom to her along the way, like how to remain steady through time and tribulations. These teachings became so deeply intertwined into her own sense of being, keeping her mind steady, even after moving across countries, raising a family, enduring changes in life. My grandfather’s faith kept him grounded during his most difficult moments, even after he had a stroke. After a life of preparing others, he went through tribulations of his own, and my family was in loving devotional service to him and he remained in faith to God, passing his blessings to us whenever we visited. After his stroke, our relationship evolved towards a bond that transcended distance, transcended the material body, because we realized we could not depend on these to serve us any longer. We depended on this bond to keep us tethered across time and distance, practicing over years. Hearing upon his death, we grieved the loss of his material body, and had faith that we would remain connected through the bond that we shared, transcending time and space.
The knowledge of this didn’t dampen the initial blow to our hearts; we wanted to be close to our family at this time, wanted to have every family member flood in through the gates of our house so that we could hold each other’s limp bodies, filled with exhaustion and grief. The backdrop of COVID-19 did not make our physical reunion possible at this time, and again tested our bond transcending distance and the material body. Peeking out over the waves of pain that washed over us, we found shelter in gratitude. Gratitude for feeling so close to our family in a time like this, even if our contact was primarily through Zoom and WhatsApp. I felt that our bond had prepared us for these final moments, and I sat for hours at his wake on Zoom, understanding the past, bracing myself for what was yet to come. Our relationship had tested us many times before, and the final hurdle would be an excruciating one.
The time to take away the casket came: my family joined together and held each other in our arms, tightly. As he was lifted, as he was being taken away, covered in flowers and colors, raising high towards the vehicle that would bring him even closer to God, I fell deeper into exhaustion, into the weight of loss of my maternal grandfather, reminded of the loss of my paternal grandfather and grandmother years prior, reminded of the 1+ million deaths seized across the world to an infectious disease that we do not understand. And I exclaimed to God, imagining myself in an empty room banging my fist against the wall, screaming with a ferocity saved for only those who can understand you in a time of weakness, how could You do this — You take and You take. All You do is take. How can you be the one who bestows, and still all You do is take. And He, with the patience of a good friend — a best friend — let me throw my tantrum with a look of understanding and benevolence, and held me close. And since He could not hold me physically, He entrusted me to his dearest surrogates — I remained clutched tightly in the grips of my family.
The truth is, at our last moments, all is taken away. And it is precisely when all is taken away, we realize that nothing has been taken away. The emptiness allows what is actually true to be seen with clarity. When we take away our house, our material bodies, our material connections, even our sense of self, we become aware of the bonds that filled these spaces, our actions which protected that which we built, and a sense of self we had long ago surrendered to those we loved, to purposes greater than ourselves. These can never be taken away, and will shape the lives of those who remain here long after we are gone.
In some cultures, this is known as the circle of life. A continuous cycle which holds promising new beginnings, but also must come to an end, hopefully with rich, wise understandings, to pave pathways for future generations. The day after the funeral of my grandfather, I sat again on a virtual call, this time watching my baby niece play and play and play and I felt I could watch her play for the rest of my life. From her birth, flooded with the desires of an aunt, I wanted to build a bond with her that would transcend all time and space. Watching her play like a miracle, so joyously, so innocently, so filled with presence while I was grieving the loss of my grandfather, I realized, this is family — multigenerational and close to the heart, when in one moment we stumble, everyone will come together to move through the hurdles together, to pick each other up whenever we have fallen. This is family, the legacies that our grandfathers and grandmother have left for us, the love which fills these houses, the wisdom which ask us to dig deeper in our minds, the values which we live by and will pass on. When all is taken away, this is all that remains, and this is what is true. Even in the circle of life, these are the bonds, the moments, the love, that will transcend space and time itself. Once we find oneness with these, we can find peace. And having that, in his final moments, my grandfather was finally free.