Chaldean Memorial

We were honored by the experience of attending a gathering of the family mourning the loss of the child.

Our original intent was to express our sorrow for their loss, and to bring them some small token of our affection for them - a nice card, a plate of muffins. But they invited us to stay and share more of the day with them. And we did.

It was an unsettling experience for me, having never experienced Middle Eastern culture directly. We were ushered into the room where the mother sat surrounded by her friends; we mumbled some apologetic words and hugged her, and then Cheryl was invited to stay in the room with the women while I was invited downstairs with the men.

Everyone was wearing black.

Downstairs, the men sat around and counted their "worry beads" (i.e Rosary) while switching between English and Chaldean. The father received all his guests, the cousins and other relations made sure everyone was comfortable. Conversation was sparse among the visitors; most of them were as unsure of what to do as I was. We listened, smiled when appropriate, and waited for a sign from God to tell us what we were supposed to do. How long were we expected to stay? It felt as though they were all waiting for something. What could it be?

The announcement of "food" was a surprise - to me, at least. I hadn't even thought about. Most of my thoughts were centered on how to express my empathy towards this relatively young man who had suffered the loss of one of his children. He was taking it a lot better than I would have. The remainder of my thoughts were concerned with getting up the courage to make a polite exit. But the food brought that to an end. I wanted to share a meal with these people. It is the way people have always connected. So we stayed.

The food was excellent, a good sampling of Upper Middle Eastern cuisine. The host was attentive and gracious. It didn't remove the discomfort of being surrounded by a culture I knew little about, but it reduced it quite a bit. After all was complete, I politely (I hope) excused myself and went upstairs to see how Cheryl was doing. She appeared to be busy, so I signaled her my intent to go check on the kids - we'd been there far longer than we had anticipated - and departed.

I feel honored and embarrassed, all at the same time. And guilty for not having come to know those excellent people better before tragedy befell them.

But as a shy person (in the manner of Garrison Keillor), I've never found it easy to get to know people.