Tomoko's o-soushiki (funeral) began in the morning. I spent most of my day minding the behavior and actions of others around me as we moved through the various rituals to make sure I didn't do anything wrong.
Japanese funeral services are very high on drama. The service began with a sutra reading and incense offering very similar to the day before, only there were fewer people present to make offerings. We then retired to the lobby for a bit, and when we re-entered, the casket was in the center of the room, fully opened. My mom had given me omiyage of small foods to give to Tomoko when I saw her, and since she passed, I had given it to her husband as a small offering. It had been awkwardly placed on the casket during the funeral, and now even more awkwardly rested at her feet IN the casket. I wished I had brought something more impressive for her to take with her.
Each person then took turns placing carefully prepared flowers all through the casket, only leaving her face exposed. It is a beautiful and very dramatic part of the Japanese Buddhist service, and it was made all the more dramatic because, with Tomoko's body exposed, everyone in the room began to cry. Male relatives I never thought I'd see cry were sobbing. It was a very odd moment, too, though, because with all the emotion in the room, the funeral director continued snapping digital camera pictures (which he had been doing all day). Now, I have no idea what the normal picture-taking protocol for funerals is in the U.S. let alone in Japan, but it just seemed oddly rude to repeatedly hear the camera's shutter sound effect mingled amongst crying and Buddhist chants. Another thing that struck me as strange was that though everyone crying was very close to each other - fathers and sons, mothers and daughters, brothers, sisters, spouses, cousins, etc. - not a single person gave another person a hug. Not even a hand on the shoulder. A funeral is a perfect example of a moment where Japanese society's emphasis on show and repression of self-expression become very unfortunate. While it was refreshing to see real, bare emotion in the form of crying, it was sad that even when most grief-stricken, Japanese people can't so much as muster a hug. I for one wanted to hug every single person in that damn room. And ask that guy to stop taking pictures.
Once the casket was closed, it was placed in the back of a hearse with Buddhist shrine detailing over the rear-housing. Masahiro-ojichan carried a large picture of Tomoko and his son Kazuhiko carried the plaque bearing her new Buddhist name. A motorcade processed to a nearby cremation center. This was a difficult experience. The casket was opened again momentarily so everyone could say goodbye one last time. Then uniformed men placed the casket in the incinerator, removing their hats briefly to bow as the heavy metal door slid shut. There was yet another incense offering. We then recessed for some snacks upstairs (how's that for a segue - watch a cremation and then take a brief break for peanuts and beer). We then returned downstairs for a ritual I had previously only heard of. See, in the etiquette section of Japanese textbooks, there are 2 things you are taught not to do while eating: (1) stand your hashi (chopsticks) up in your rice and (2) pass food from one hashi to another, because these activities are reserved for when people die. I had already seen the hashi in the rice. Now came time to pass from hashi to hashi. The incinerator was opened, and all that remained was Tomoko's white, ashy bones. Using long hashi, pairs take turns passing the bones from a plate to an urn. I was so busy trying to not drop the bone from my hashi, I almost didn't recognize the gravity of the moment. Afterward, as usual, my cousin Kaori said, "Hashi jyouzudane." (you're good with chopsticks). No matter how many times people in Japan see me use chopsticks, they can't seem to believe that I actually know how to use them. It's always an impressive show.
We then returned for a very traditional Japanese lunch and more beer. I got to talk to a few girls who were at the funeral and are studying English. Okay, they were actually in the their late 20s and 30s, so they aren't girls, but it was nice to have a conversation in English. And one had even been at UCSB for a year, so it was cool talking to her. But once again, I was disappointed by the maturity of Japanese men. They all seem to think it's hilarious when a boy is talking to a girl, like the boy will get cooties from talking to the girl. So as usual, all the men were laughing at me. Maybe it's because I'm like their little brother or something, but I wanted to tell them to grow up. I'm sort of an adult! And those girls were definitely adults. Geez.
On a lighter note, if people here don't stop feeding me constantly and serving me beer every hour, I'm going to need to find a bigger apartment when I move to Sendai (get it? lighter note? b/c I'm getting heavier - so it's ironi ... eh, nevermind). Even when I repeatedly turn down the beer, they serve it to me. Even when I don't want anymore food, my plate is filled. While its very kind, it's a little overwhelming. So please. I beg you. No more beer.
