How green is my ‘bury’ (Philippines)
By Ella V. Buenaventura (The Philippine Star)
One evening I was tucking to bed two little kids — Simon, my six-year-old grandson by a nephew; Amber, my two-year-old granddaughter by a niece — when Simon blurted sleepily:
“You are old. When you die, can I go with you?” sounding his concern.
“No.” was my simple reply.
“Where will you go when you die?” he continued.
“To heaven,” I lovingly looked at him.
“Will I see you in heaven, even if I go to hell?” he wondered.
“No, you have to be good so you could be with me in heaven.” I answered bluntly.
“Will you wait for me in heaven?” he waited for assurance.
“Yes, after you have gotten married, have kids and grown old with your family.” I said matter-of-factly.
“What will you do in heaven while waiting for me”? he was insistent.
“I will play the computer,” I kiddingly remarked.
“What games will you play in heaven — Spider Solitaire? Call of Duty 2? Will you watch your Koreanovela CDs?” Oh, this lad was even familiar with my own favorite computer games!
“I don’t know what computer games they have in heaven but I will surely while away my time in a computer chair while waiting for you,” I tried to be practical.
“Promise, you will wait for me in heaven?” He was becoming too demanding.
“Yes, I promise.” I thought that would end our conversation and start going to sleep, because Simon lovingly looked at me and smiled. But just in time when Amber butted in:
“Can I go with you in heaven”? There was sincerity and innocence in her chirpy voice.
“Yes,” I lovingly smiled at my cute granddaughter.
Chubby Amber clapped her tiny hands and threw herself gleefully on her pillow. Both grandchildren seemed satisfied with my assurance, and after a while, they snapped into dreamland. I was left wondering about my own mortality and afterlife.
Will I be cremated? Then my family would scatter my ashes in the sea, honoring my remains with bundles of red, orange and yellow buds and bows of Fire Tree, my favorite flowers? Members of my family knew this original plan of mine.
Or will I allow my friends to whisper scrutiny on my embalmed frozen being as I lay stiff, defenseless with gnashing teeth, in a rose-colored casket? Well, I will not give them that privilege, not even over my dead body!
Will it still be a sea burial for me, wherein my ashes will be strewn into the sea and be swallowed by a whale or a fish? Or a green burial wherein I will be able to hear the footsteps of my beloved grandchildren, Simon and Amber, underneath the hallowed ground when they come to visit my grave? Under the green landscape, I would be able to hear their giggles while playing to wet each other with water from the brook within the garden where I was lain. There I would hear them sing with the birds nestled on the tree that fed on my residue.
The Philippines is bounded by mountains with natural falls, mini lakes and vast forest, that make it an ideal place not only for one, but several “green cemeteries.”
Yet, somebody — a businessman or environmentalist — has yet to gather enough courage to invest in a green cemetery. Hopefully, before I write 30!