All rights reserved. One night, a little before seven, Elisabeth Rante pulls a golden curtain back from the doorway. Together we slip inside. She speaks to her husband. Here is your fish. A well-preserved body, mummified with a solution of formaldehyde and water, is thought to bring good fortune. A touching family scene. Except for one thing.
Here, in the handsome, melon-colored concrete house of a respected and prosperous family, Petrus Sampe lies motionless on a wooden twin bed, a red patterned blanket tucked under his chin. For several more days in this house on the fringe of the town of Rantepao, in the remote highlands of the Indonesian island of Sulawesi, Petrus will lie in this bed. His wife and children will speak to him as they bring him food four times a day—breakfast, lunch, dinner, and mid-afternoon tea. On the wall a picture of Jesus Christ leading a lamb looks down. Near Rantepao, Sulawesi, cousins and sisters surround three-year-old Syahrini Tania Tiranda, who died the day before.
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They touch her and talk to her. Four days later, after musical tributes, a Christian religious service, and a pork, vegetable, and rice dinner for more than a hundred, family members lift Petrus from the bed into a coffin. Videographers record the event. Eight or more children—relatives and friends from the neighborhood—push each other out of the way to get a better view.
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Afterward Petrus will remain at home, in his coffin, until his funeral in December, four months from now. His wife will live in the house with him until then; some families follow the old custom of never leaving a dead person alone. Instead, death is just one step in a long, gradually unfolding process. Late loved ones are tended at home for weeks, months, or even years after death.
Funerals are often delayed as long as necessary to gather far-flung relatives. The grandest funeral ceremonies are week-long events drawing Torajans home in a vast reverse diaspora from wherever in the world they may be. When a brigade of a hundred or more motorcycles and cars rips through town accompanying a corpse home from far away, traffic stops in a manner that not even an ambulance or a police officer can command.
Here, death trumps life. Torajans do not reject medical treatments for life-threatening conditions.
Nor do they escape grief when loved ones die. But far from pushing death away, almost everyone here holds death at the center of life. Death for many Torajans is not a brick wall but a gauze veil. It is not a severing but just another kind of connection. Periodically some northern Torajans bring their relatives out of their tombs to give them fresh clothing and burial shrouds. No one knows exactly when Torajan death practices began.
The Torajan language was written down only in the early 20th century, so most of the old traditions are still oral. Only recently, through carbon dating of wooden coffin fragments, have archaeologists concluded that there are Torajan death practices that date back at least as far as the ninth century A. The first Dutch ships arrived in what is now Indonesia in the late 16th century, searching for nutmeg and cloves. Just over years later they reached Toraja, a cultural region that today encompasses the districts of Toraja Utara and Tana Toraja.
Toraja is dotted with villages perched high on the side of cliffs or nestled deep in the valleys below. The villages in turn are connected only by winding, one-lane dirt paths carrying two-lane traffic that dodges dogs and toddlers along routes pocked with head-banging, watermelon-size ruts. I made the rough trek here after years spent writing and speaking about an American way of death that glorifies medicine and drugs but fears death, which it considers a failure of technology or will.
That leaves most Americans dying in institutions, when the majority say they would prefer to die in peace at home. After my husband, Terence, died, I began seeking alternatives. I have come here to explore a culture that is even more extreme, but in the opposite direction. Nearly half a million Torajans live in the highlands of the Indonesian island of Sulawesi. The vast majority, at least 90 percent, are Christians, but they remain influenced by their traditional religion, Aluk To Dolo, or Way of the Ancestors. There are obvious limits to my search.
Risma Paembonan takes dinner to her mother-in-law, Maria Salempang, who died two weeks earlier, at Time at home with parents can be highly prized. Seeing, talking to, and feeling the presence of a dead loved one are commonplace in the West, write Colin Murray Parkes and Holly G. But the Western habit of sweeping the dead out of sight within days or even hours of death would seem far too abrupt to a Torajan.
The best thing to resolve grief is time. They were tired of trying to jump on another show with different bands, so they decided to book their own. This was the very first time I witnessed them play.
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It was amazing to see these young men just shred the stage. This is also where our friendship began to form. I originally met the guys because Deven was looking for locations to do a photo shoot. He was iffy about hiring another photographer because of a previous debacle seriously, it was not great. At that time, I was just starting my own project, Fargo. The band had booked more studio time with Jeremy out at All Poetic Audio, a great signifier that Jeremy does not, in fact, kill his clients. This was also the debut of their first set of DIY merch in the form of acid washed tye-dye shirts.
Immediately sold out. This group of talented musicians are devoted to their craft, and to the success of Dearly Departed. Jordan bought a house in Glyndon, MN with the intention to turn the basement into an amazing practice space. Three quarters of the band reside there, now. You would think so much proximity would destroy a friendship.
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From what I can observe, it has only made it stronger. The band spent the entire month of November recording their demos in preparation for their studio time with Jeremy in December. Hunter, a senior at the time was also their primary recording tech. The guys were tired, and this was the easy part, as they learned from their last studio visit.
This is where I can start to make my own personal observations. This was the first major sacrifice I made for the band. A band that I am not a member of. This was where we got to know each other, and where our friendship was cemented. You would think that a week stuck in a small apartment, five of us sharing two rooms, would breed contempt.
But it just never happened.
We prepped meals for each other, hung out, played games, and told so many stories that by the time we packed up, we were exhausted, we were excited, a little sad, and it felt like I had known them forever. Never once did these guys fight with each other.europeschool.com.ua/profiles/vasugisej/rotux-chicas-de.php
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Since then, I have worked closely with the band. We have done scores of promotional shoots, and I have been to every one of their shows, camera always at the ready. This year, haunted by extreme lows, followed by some extreme highs. Dearly Departed was nearly no more. Heartbreak can bring the strongest man to his knees, and your favorite musicians are not immune. Through break ups, financial uncertainty, new jobs, and turmoil of friendship, the group nearly split. This is what they tell me, but I can tell you, from the outside looking in, I never saw their friendship falter.
I saw anger and sadness, but the support that had existed from the beginning was always there, somewhere. The band came to a complete reignition when they were directly asked by The Suit, Fargo breakouts, to open for their show on October 5th at Fargo Brewing. They have been working non-stop since this new development with an upgraded merch line, increased production of their live performance, and of course, being the biggest cheerleaders for each other.
This isn't a permanent goodbye. Since the loss of you, I've learned to live for each day And take it as a blessing, Knowing it may not always be this way. Read Complete Poem.
I have a similar story. I lost three of my closest friends on year old guys.
They were the best people ever that helped me through my toughest times but I could never return Read complete story. Don't cry for me today, I wouldn't want it this way. Be strong and smile,. I understand how you feel. I lost my parents and 4 of my best friends in a short time. Overwhelming grief affected my faith in God and took over my life.
Every day I wonder, "Where did all Although unheard, I thank you For always being there. Even when you were bedridden, You always seemed to care. My friend passed away on the 27th July , 10 days before her 21st birthday. She'd had a hard fight with Cystic Fibrosis.