“Encore un mort.”
“Another death.” That’s what my grandmother would say every time she heard the church bells ring for a funeral.
Last week, those bells rang for her.
I came to France to be present at her funeral. I am almost 29 years old, and my Mamy’s body was the first I’ve ever seen, her funeral the second I’ve ever attended. It made me see very clearly how differently she and I understood death.
My grandmother lived most of her life in a village called Bubry, in Brittany, France. Bubry’s community is small, but not so small that my Mamy knew absolutely everyone. Still, every time the bells rang for a funeral, my grandmother either knew the deceased or knew someone who knew her-him. In that way, “encore un mort” was not a morbid thing to say: it was simply a marking of time and an acknowledgement of mortality.
I’ve lived in Oregon now for 17 years, in Portland and in Salem, but, when I was younger, my family moved around a lot. I was born in Saudi Arabia’s capital and raised in California, New Jersey, and Brittany. I’ve never met much of my father’s side of the family. My Papa and his kin are originally from Michigan, and my father belongs to the same generation as my mother’s parents, so most of my cousins were adults by the time I was born. Though my mother’s father died 7 years ago, I didn’t attend his funeral because my father was sick at the time and someone needed to be in Portland while my Maman came to France. All of which is to say that I can’t possibly have the same understanding of death as my grandmother because I have never known community in the same way that she did.
When I was a child in Bubry, the church bells announced the various church services and every funeral as well as the passing of every hour and every half hour. Little has changed in the last 20 years except that these days the half-pasts are allowed to slip by without notice. Time is measured differently now, but the bells are still comforting.
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CATEGORIES: - Philosophy -
(2) Comments / Commentaires: “Encore un mort.”
Love to you.
Aline Fouillen...
Gwenn,
Recevez ta famille et toi mes plus sincères condoléances.
En effet, cette phrase “encore un mort” fait partie d’une conception de la mort et de la vie très différente de celle que nous connaissons en vivant dans de grandes villes ou pour notre génération.
Adolescente, cela me paraissait indécent de parler de la mort couramment , d’assister à des funérailles sans être un membre de la famille, de participer “au café et gateaux” offert par la famille du défunt après l’enterrement.
Aujourd’hui j’ai compris combien cette conception de la mort, ces rites sont réfléchis et soutenants pour les proches du défunt.
Faire en sorte que la mort ne soit pas qu’une fin mais fasse partie de la vie, qu’il y a une continuité, que l’on célèbre le défunt à l’église, au cimetierre mais également en se réunissant pour parler de cette personne qui nous manquera toujours mais qui continuera à faire partie de nous et de la communauté...
Ce texte , cette réflexion m’ont profondément touché et rappelé combien il est imporatant de parler ne nos proches disparus afin de les garder près de nous et les faire vivre à travers nous.
--- -- - --- - ---- - - --- ----- -- -Je pense bien à toi et je t’embrasse.
Aline