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My wife’s grandmother passed away last week, after a long battle with cancer. She died just a few days before what would have been her 81st birthday. With the exception of our infant son, who never had the chance to meet her, we were all very close to her, so her passing was a sad event for our family. Even though this moment had been all but inevitable for nearly a year, the suddenness of it came as a great shock to us all.

Our daughter, who knew her great-grandmother only by the nickname “Enko-enko” (babytalk for “let’s go for a walk,” which is what they used to do together before her illness got really bad), has had a difficult coming to grips with what this news means. Having never experienced death before, she’s exhibited a very innocent and genuine (though not always well-mannered) interest in the details. The sight of her at the funeral, with her little hands clasped together, obediently following along with prayers she didn’t understand (neither did I, for that matter—Buddhist prayers are quite beyond the range of my Japanese ability), was one of the most precious things I’ve seen in all the time I’ve known her—although, given the circumstances, it’s not something I’m in any hurry to see again.

In talking with my wife after the funeral, we thought a bit about what we wanted for our own funerals. My wife seems ambivalent. She doesn’t want an expensive funeral, but outside of that, she has no opinion. I thought it would be fitting to be returned to Albuquerque, where I was born, but haven’t given it much thought beyond that. (Have interesting plans for your body after you die? In the comments section, feel free to tell us how you would like to have your remains handled. What a topic for discussion, huh?!)

At one point, though, she mentioned the expression about “having a hole in one’s heart” after a loved one dies. Unsurprisingly, there is a similar expression in Japanese. Given the universal nature of the experience, I’m sure there must be a similar expression in nearly every language. I certainly felt that hole during the ceremony—and I’m sure it must be an enormous hole for my wife, who was practically raised by her grandmother. Unfortunately for us, though, only the hole remains now. Enko-enko is gone.

First time for last rites
Although I’ve attended a number of funerals in Japan before, yesterday was the first time I had ever attended a cremation. I don’t think my Western upbringing adequately prepared me for the experience. Most Christian funerals, of course, end with the body being carried to its final resting place and then buried, but in Japan the surviving family members take turns picking up the cremated bones of the deceased with special chopsticks and putting them into an urn, a process that left me rather choked up.

As a rule, the Japanese cremate their dead (there’s no room in this tiny country for big, Western-style cemeteries!), with the Imperial Family being the only exception. If our family ends up staying in Japan, our children may one day be doing that with our bones. With that in mind, Albuquerque is starting to seem like a much better idea.