a vela to remember

Earlier this week I attended my first vela (wake) here in Nicaragua. My dear friend Hultner received a call late Tuesday morning at work that his wife Tania's abuelita (grandmother) had died of a heart attack. It was a week of mixed blessings for him and his family, as they just received news a few days ago that they would be able to move into their new house.

My colleague Anne told us that people are buried really quickly here (due to the prohibitive cost of embalming), but I didn't realize how quickly until that night when we found out through our Nica friend and mutual neighbor Maria that the vela was that evening (and the burial would be the following day). I was glad that I had decided earlier to make banana bread for them, which was already ready when Hultner called to give us directions, and Andrea and I took a taxi (at 8:30pm, the latest we had ever gone anywhere at night here in Nicaragua) to the funeral home.

When we got there, Hultner greeted us with sad eyes and a weak smile. It was the saddest I have ever seen him, and my heart just ached for him. But, always thinking of others before himself, he took us around and introduced us to all his family members, including Tania's mom, who was a sweet and strong woman who told us that her mother was a woman of deep faith in Christ, and did not suffer in her last hours, and now was with her Lord. It was amazing to me how many people were there given the short notice (word of mouth must be very effective in these situations here)...in the big front room there were probably about 60 chairs and almost all of them were full.

About 30 minutes after we got there, there was a service of sorts, in which some of the family members led music/worship and Hultner's dad (a pastor) gave a short evangelical message (“the best way you can honor the memory of this woman is to give your life to Christ”). I was watching Hultner most of the time, whose vacant stare remained for most of the evening...he stood alone in the corner, and did not sing during the music, nor did his facial expressions change during his dad's sermon. It made me very sad to see his grief—in fact, he seemed more impacted than Tania, whose makeup perhaps hid her pain from view.

Even though I did not know Tania's abuelita, I was very moved by the whole experience of being with their family for this deeply personal occasion. Like evangelical wakes in the States, there was lots of talk of the joy of a daughter going home to Jesus, but that did not keep a few people from crying (including me). Finally around 10:30pm, Andrea and I decided to leave, and gave parting hugs of consolation to Hultner and Tania (“buenas vecinas”, they called us). Even though it was an emotional experience, I was glad that we were able to go and support their family during that bittersweet time.