On Funerals

Park's grandmother died last Sunday, and, while it was in no way unexpected, it was still a difficult time for everyone. I've written before about Korean funerals, and now I'm going to write some more, based on my experience. Last time I attended a funeral, I was just a visitor. Now, I was part of the family, and it was much more difficult. One could even say brutal or grueling.

In my experience, American funerals are a rather simple affair. There is a wake or viewing at a funeral home, followed by some sort of memorial service or funeral Mass and then the burial. Funeral homes tend to be somber in color, filled with cushy chairs and tissue-stocked alcoves, where mourners can converse in private. Wakes are held at certain hours, during which visitors can offer their condolences to the family and catch a last glimpse of the deceased, whose body is tastefully displayed, perhaps robed in a favorite outfit and clasping some sweet-smelling flowers.

Korean funerals are completely different.

As I've mentioned before, Korean funerals last three days, and those three days begin as soon as the person has died. There is so much to arrange and to do that there is an entire industry built around the planning and efficient running of funerals. All large hospitals in Korea have a separate wing of what we would call funeral homes, although they are very different from our Western idea of a funeral home. Since many funerals could be happening at once, each family gets their own hall.

Our first evening was spent planning and preparing the hall. We set up the tables and arranged plates as best we could. The funeral planning company provided all of the supplies, including clothing for us to wear. The men wore suits and the women wore black hanbok. I found the hanbok to be quite comfortable, actually. By midnight, all of the preparations were complete, and the family was ready to sleep. According to Korean tradition, the family must stay with the body until burial.

By 7 AM the next day, everyone was up and hard at work. Flowers and even a few visitors were arriving. We hired a crew of ladies to prepare and serve food for the guests (and essential part of every funeral). By far the most emotionally difficult part is what came next. Around 10 o'clock, we gathered in the mortician's room to watch them prepare the body for burial. To me, this was a beautiful and special moment. Many years ago, when Park's grandmother was still healthy, she had made her own burial clothing for herself and for her husband. It was beautifully made in the Buddhist tradition, and every detail and necessary article had been considered. As they dressed her, I thought that, really, death isn't anything to be afraid of. Meet it as you would an other part of your life. Park's grandmother was prepared for this moment; she was not afraid. Her body was wrapped in several layers of cloth and then tied up like a package with strips of colored cloth arranged in patterns, almost like flowers. They placed her in a simple coffin, and then attached several prayers to the outside as a way of keeping her body safe. It was a difficult moment for the entire family.

The rest of the day was spent in the back-breaking work of greeting and feeding visitors, hundreds of visitors.

At the entrance of the funeral hall is a shoe closet (one must always remove one's shoes) and a desk where a member of the family will greet visitors, and visitors can sign their name in the guest book and leave a donation to help defray the cost of the funeral (a very practical and wonderful tradition that we should adopt in the West, by the way). After entering, visitors must pay their respects to the deceased. In Korea, they do not display the body. Rather, most people at some point in their lives will take what is called a "funeral portrait". This portrait is to be displayed at the funeral. It's a nice way to help remember that person as they were before they became sick.

At a Buddhist funeral, visitors first light a stick of incense then bow to the ground twice and then once at the waist. Protestants refuse to bow because they think it's idolatry, so they lay flowers instead. Once you're done paying your respects to the dead, then you bow to the ground in greeting to the family. They will likewise bow back. I thought this part was especially hard on Park's family. The men of the family are responsible for greeting visitors, which means that Park's father and uncles (and sometimes he and his brothers) were getting up and down almost constantly throughout the day. A tiny closet of a room was set aside for family members to rest out of sight of visitors, but hardly anyone had the time to use it. The visits were never-ending and only increased as the day went on and approached dinner time. We had to rent out two halls just to fit all of the people.

Unfortunately, my narration has to end here. I had a violent allergic reaction to the incense, and had to go home. By the end of the day, my skin and eyes were burning, red, and swollen, and I could barely see. Park drove me home. Around 6 AM, Park was brought home too. After working until 3 AM, he had taken a short nap and woken to discover that he couldn't open his eyes because they burned so much. His brother had to lead him into our house. Final funeral rites began at 4:30 AM, and the family departed for the burial site on the family mountain at 7. Grandmother was laid to rest next to her husband. A local temple will continue to pray for her soul for the next 100 days. Park and I had to miss all of this, though, because we were both physically incapable of seeing.

As I said, Korean funerals are hard.