-^-for posterity-^-

i went to a death anniversary celebration on my birthday. how similar they both were.

one of my students called me up the other day and asked if i would be willing to eat supper at their house the following day. they said it was going to be the death anniversary of their grandfather.

i have never witnessed a death anniversary and was more than willing to attend. my mind conjured pictures up of people in dark robes walking around odd shrines with incense burning everywhere. that was the furthest thing from the truth.

i brought two kilos of fruit after consulting one of my friends. he said that you needed to buy something to offer the family and the dead person.

the house was on a small, dirt track in the middle of long xuyen. the family was warm and accommodating. i was introduced to everyone. there were a group of uncles there. they were the son’s of the dead grandfather. they all looked similar and were dressed smartly and must have worked in business. there were no aunts. there were children, though. about seven or eight children ran around. i was told they all knew english but, after difficult quizzing, (how are you?) i found their skills lacking. they were more or less curious as to why there was a large, white person in their house.

the grandmother was still alive. she was short and wrinkled and a bit plump. her nose had a small growth on it and she smiled continuously. she told me how many of her children and her grandchildren were studying different languages. she talked about russian, japanese, korean, french, german and english. i offered her my fruit, as i was told to do, and recited the phrase i was given. “cho con giu cung ong” basically, use these as a prayer for the grandfather.

when i was introduced to her, she smiled at me with fairly sincere eyes. after i gave her the fruit, her eyes changed. she looked at the picture of her husband on the wall. it was an old black and white painting. he was standing next to her grinning widely. her face was emotionless. he had a gap in his front teeth and his head was cocked a bit to one side. she looked back at me and didn’t say anything but said thanks a million times.

we all sat down to eat. two of my students were there and the food was good but everything was a bit awkward. i didn’t really know anyone and surely didn’t know how to act or what to say at a death anniversary. the conversation at the table was about football and buying land.

i brought up the old man and they talked briefly about him. i was sitting in the seat of honor, why, i don’t know. i was sitting directly across from the old painting of the grandfather. his eyes were pointed directly at me. i made eye-contact with him and the thought, “today is my birthday, today is your deathday. what a strange connection that is.” i asked people about his life. they said that he owned a small factory. they said he was a wonderful father. they shared stories that i didn’t really understand. they talked about when he died, on june 17, 1989. he had heart disease. no one cried, no one looked sad, they all seemed to be content just reminiscing.

i was struck as to how similar a birthday and a death anniversary are. at home, i’ve been told the story of how i was born on every june 17th. i’ve been told how i wasn’t breathing and that the doctor laid me on the window frame and how i started to breath and cry. i was told about my childhood, about how me and my brother fell out of our red wagon one day on heading to the bluffton reservoir. i’ve been told things that i could not possibly have remembered just like the grandchildren were being told about their grandfather’s life. they were being told stories that shaped their family’s history and i was told stories that shaped my history.

the death anniversary isn’t a sad time just like a birthday isn’t a sad time. sure, we could all reflect on the fact that, on our birthday, we’re one year closer to death. we could think about how our finite lives are slowly coming to an end but we don’t. sure, on a death anniversary they could shake their heads, dab their eyes and moan about how sad it is not to have their grandfather around anymore, but they don’t.