Swimming with Eduardo

On an eve of Christmas that seemed like any other, a beautiful human being looked out at the sea, dreamt his last dream and went gently into that good night. Not something you expect to discover when you visit your old friends at their beach house Christmas morning.

‘Donde es Eduardo’ was greeted by a silence that said more than words ever could have. Death had visited this house, perhaps randomly, perhaps not. And very very recently, we were to discover. The grieving family, upon sharing the news, were obviously saddened by their loss. But sad in a way that made us think the death had occurred quite some time ago. The Spanish/English language barrier and subsequent linguistic paralysis on our part obviously contributed to our misunderstanding. But what really caught us off guard was how accepting the family was with death in their midst. A cultural perspective? Perhaps. A spiritual belief? More likely. But as we sat down that morning over coffee, we talked about the 2 years since we had last seen this wonderful family, our own recent wedding and made plans for the day ahead of us. This death was not about loss – it was about life, and we were going to learn a valuable life lesson.

It was only when Ric and Jose, were bobbing in the ocean together that enlightenment came. ‘We’re swimming with Eduardo’, Jose said, as he proceeded to tell Ric how they had spread his brother-in-law’s ashes over the Manzanillo Bay that he loved. About the same time, I was getting a similar story from Norma, Eduardo’s sister, while we sat under the sombrilla on the beach in front of their rented casa. ‘He just fell asleep and never woke up again,’ she said. ‘And we decided to stay here because this was where he loved to be.’ In our culture we don’t talk about death like it’s an old friend we haven’t seen for awhile. We avoid it, avoid thinking about it, pretend it’s never going to happen and look the other way when it does. Even when we glimpse our own mortality, it’s from a distance, with lots of denial between us.

So the beautifully inspiring thing about this particular death was in watching the family continue on with the rhythm of their lives as if it never happened. Not in a ‘denial’ or ‘disrespectful of the dead’ sort of way. But in an accepting that ‘death is a part of life and is going to happen to all of us’ sort of way. With great gusto they cooked the food they loved, drank the wine that pleased them, making frequent and often funny toasts to the deceased. They talked of him as if he had just popped back into the house to use el bano. This family was not debilitated by their loss. They laughed. They sang. They made plans for the future. They appeared to ‘see’ their brother, their uncle, in every waking moment and were happy that he died so peacefully, in a place he loved so well.

I only knew Eduardo for a short time but his love of life was infectious. It is obvious he lives on in the people he has physically left behind. And I for one am glad to have a tiny piece of him.

 
So perhaps when Death comes a-knockin at my door, I’ll take a page out of the Sanchez/Perez family book and invite him in, mix us both a whiskey Pandita and ask him ‘where to next, big guy’. Hopefully it’ll be swimming with Eduardo.