Reflection – UUCMP

In prior posts I have told you that I am a Worship Associate at my Church, the Unitarian Universalist Church of the Monterey Peninsula.  As a WA, I speak from the pulpit about 3-4 times per year.  Below a reflection on the theme of “Repair”, as in recover from a loss or a hurt.

Reflection – UUCMP – 11/17/24 – Celia Barberena

I will speak about the loss of a loved one after one heals and that comes with time. Let me start with the death of my mother. I was only 23 when she died, just beginning to live my life as an adult. Her death caused me quite a trauma from which I recovered over time. Now, decades later, I remember her as vibrant and beautiful. As she got older, she called her shoes: “Burritos”. I guess because they wrapped her feet with laces or a zipper, like a booty and also like a burrito. Every afternoon, as she dressed to go to Church, she would say: “I am going out, where are my burritos”. Well, if you notice my shoes, I now wear burritos. I have become my mother.

My Dad and I were very close. Even though we lived in different countries, our closeness was of the spirit.  What I remember about him now is his ability to tell a story with humor, and to live a very productive life. I hope he passed that on to me. When I was 15, he asked me: “Do you want a big quiceanera?” I said: “No, take me on a trip.”  A travel agent friend of his arranged for us to tour Mexico City, Cuernavaca, Taxco and Acapulco.  What I remember most from that trip is that we went on a day cruise on Acapulco Bay, in a boat that had a bar and a dance floor.  There was a very saucy woman on the dance floor, laughing and making her presence known, causing men to be very attentive, – well, men and women were very attentive.  Her name was Rocio which means mist, as in water mist – something delicate.  And I remember my dad saying with a smile about Rocio: “That’s no water mist, that’s Niagara Falls”.

Some of you may remember my husband Ned.  He was the quintessential Minnesotan, like Garrison Keillor describes them – laid back, not quick to get a rise except when it mattered.  His mother passed away a couple of years after we got married. She died in Dallas and was cremated there. Rich, my brother-in-law, transported her ashes to St. Louis where she was buried next to her husband.  It was then that I first saw a plastic bag full of ashes. In Nicaragua, we were not into cremation. 

When we got back I said to Ned: “It’s likely that you may die before I do” (he was 15 years older than me).  “There is no way,” I said, “that I am going to have you cremated. I can’t go from seeing you beautiful in your own body one day, and the next day you are a pile of ashes. I can’t make that transition. I am going to burry you wearing your blue suit”.  He looked at me somewhat amused and said: “Well, if you are going to bury me in my suit, make sure I am wearing my Birkenstocks, because I have been working on my toe nails, and they are looking pretty good, and I want to show them off”. I cracked up.

Ned died decades later and by then, I had become adjusted to the idea of cremation, for more than one reason.  Can you imagine an open casket funeral in our UU sanctuary of a man or a woman in their best suit and Birkenstocks?

Our loved ones, those that have passed, have given us so much. Stories like mine will play in your head and bring a smile and comfort to you as proof that their essence will stay with us for the rest of our lives. Amen.