The author's brother bids their grandma farewell — The author’s brother bids their grandma farewell

I wish I wasn’t qualified to write this article, but my 2022 has been a nightmare version of that Richard Curtis film—no weddings and too many funerals.

My two grandmothers and my father all died within months of one another. And because humor is my way of coping with life’s darkness, I started to joke that I can now plan wakes like a pro.

Except it’s not completely a joke. As the eldest child and the eldest grandchild on both sides of the family, it became my duty—no, privilege—to help make sure our loved ones had a proper send-off. And in the course of talking to morticians, choosing caskets and urns and visiting different chapels, I realized something that surprised me: funeral homes are not created equal.

Of course I knew there was a difference between the bigger funeral homes and the tiny mom and pop ones, but I had no idea there could be a big disparity in both the facilities and services of the more well-known funerarias on the burol strip of Araneta Avenue. It soon became apparent that “You’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all” doesn’t apply to funeral parlors.

‘Suking’ funeraria

For reasons unknown to me, my father’s side of the family has a suking funeraria—let’s call it Funeraria X because I will be saying some not-so-nice things about it, and I don’t want to be embalmed alive.

When my aunt died in 1995 and my grandfather died in 1999, both their wakes were held at Funeraria X. Over the years, a number of my grandma’s siblings and an uncle had their wakes there, too.

My grandfather was the first person to be cremated in my family. We gathered to say goodbye and take one final look at his body. When the cremation chamber (which looks like a giant industrial oven) was opened, my cousin spotted the flames and shouted, “Holy Toledo!” For a second, our sobs turned into tearful chuckles. That moment was traumatic, though—it was a visual reminder that this person we love was about to be incinerated.

When my grandmother succumbed to COVID earlier this year, I insisted on being there to witness her cremation, also at Funeraria X. I didn’t want her to be alone. It was a sad, quiet affair. Just me, the priest who left after the blessing, the men manning the furnace and my tiny grandmother in a body bag.

“Okay na ma’am?” one of them asked me. I asked for a moment so I could thank her and say goodbye again.

My grandma’s body bag had been laying on top of what looked like a cardboard box. They wheeled her off to the incinerator. It hurt seeing them put her into the machine—box and all—because, just like with my grandpa, I saw the flames. And I would see them again and again through the curtains every time the men opened the furnace to check if she had been completely cremated. It was only after watching the video that I had taken for family members that I realized that I let out an audible sob and cried out for my grandma the moment they heaved her from the gurney into the furnace—a visceral reaction.

Rain of petals

This was in stark contrast to my maternal grandmother’s cremation at Arlington Memorial Chapel (Araneta Avenue) in March, which, I swear, was absolutely beautiful. I never thought I’d use the words “cremation” and “beautiful” in the same sentence but believe me, it’s warranted.

After her wake, which lasted several days, on the day of her cremation, her pallbearers—her grandsons—wheeled her casket out of the chapel and toward the crematorium. Family members and friends stood in line, throwing flowers in the air, letting petals rain on my grandma’s casket as it rolled past. Then everyone joined the procession.

Music played as more petals showered her from the rooftops—okay, fine, this part’s usually reserved for VIPs, I heard. As we were making arrangements for her wake, the Arlington employee we were talking to recognized my uncle. Apparently, he used to work for my uncle, and my uncle had helped him by giving his brother a job. He wanted to repay the kindness by giving my uncle’s mom the VIP treatment, thus Lola’s rain of roses and red carpet—yes, they literally rolled a red carpet from the chapel to the crematorium.

But those weren’t the elements that made the whole thing special. It was their cremation program—one they do for every cremation, VIP or not—that made it beautiful. Inside the crematory chapel, Lola’s urn—a black and gold beauty (I refuse to put my grandmothers in those atrocious marble urns that usually come free with cremation packages—they deserve better)—was waiting in front of an easel with her portrait.

A host with the most soothing voice ever led us through the final viewing. “Today, we shall bid her a beautiful farewell,” she said, calling on guests row by row, giving everyone the chance to say one more goodbye to Lola.

Final bed

Lola Lyd's wake at Arlington — Lola Lyd’s wake at Arlington

Then, we were asked to prepare her final bed. The staff of Arlingon handed out sprigs of flowers from the sympathy arrangements that she had received over the past days, and we used them to line the fabric-covered box she’d be cremated in. It was nice to think of Lola laying on a bed of orchids inside such a harsh environment.

They set the bed aside and had us focus on the cover. My grandpa was first. “Till we meet again in the clouds,” he wrote with a Sharpie.

We wrote messages and prayers for my grandma, drew on the cover, made it colorful. “It’s like you are sending her off with these words,” we were told. “Pabaon.” For a while, all you could hear were sniffles, pen scratches and instrumental music. Soon, it was covered with words, even from loved ones abroad who were joining the program on video call.

The host said, “Let’s give one final round of applause for a life well-lived.” As we all clapped through our tears, Lola was taken away so they could get her ready for the cremation. “It was such a majestic and honorable moment,” my brother later said, telling me that it was his favorite part of the ceremony.

Lola’s closest family members then filed into a smaller viewing room. Through a glass window, we could see her laying on the bed we had prepared, looking serene in her white gown, a bundle of orchids on her chest.

They waited for us to give the signal that we were ready. And when we did, they covered her and we saw our words again, surrounding her name. “We love you, we love you, we love you so much.”

Then the men pressed a button and Lola, who had already been lying on a conveyor belt (we didn’t even notice!) slid into the machine quietly and smoothly as we said more I love yous and thank yous. It felt peaceful, it felt serene, no flames, no extra pain.

Softening the experience

Writing final messages for the author’s Lola Lyd

We returned to the first chapel where people laughed and cried and shared stories about my grandma and 90 minutes later (So fast! It usually takes hours), the cremation was done, Lola’s ashes were in her urn and they had even separated the colored bones that people believe are symbols of her good deeds during her lifetime.

“Cremation is usually difficult for families but we find that this experience softens it,” the guy who took care of us at Arlington said.

It was a beautiful service, solemn, dignified and so full of compassion, one I wish both my grandmothers could have had. I blamed COVID for making it impossible to give my other grandma a beautiful goodbye, even though the Arlington guy said they give COVID victims a dignified farewell, too.

Then, months later, my father died after complications from an elective heart surgery. And I realized it wasn’t COVID, it was Funeraria X.

Once again, I found myself doing an ocular inspection of memorial chapels, this time with my brother. “This one’s too small,” we said.

We were told they had a bigger chapel but we couldn’t use it because “may tumutulo.” I refused to ask what was leaking.

Cracked pleather

We continued to fret over how tiny the one they were offering was and so the guy took us to a different chapel. I walked into the room at the back where family members can sleep, stared at the cracked pleather upholstery of what I guess was supposed to be the bed and thought, “Toto, we’re not in Arlington anymore.”

But before I could tell myself that it’s fine, at least it was a bigger chapel than the first one they were offering, the guy said, “Oh, you can’t use this chapel, the aircon isn’t working.”

And so the tiny chapel it was. Fast forward a few days later, it was time for my father’s cremation. His coffin was brought down unceremoniously and for a time the guests were split, with some still in the memorial chapel and the others already at the crematory chapel.

After the final viewing, the staff handed us flowers but by then, my father’s body was already behind the window, closer to where the cremation machine was, and so putting flowers on him was a bit of a challenge.

We could only do it on top of his chest and around his shoulders—I remember putting mine just by his right armpit.

Three men got ready to push his body into the machine and I told my brother to brace himself for the flames. “This is the most painful part,” I whispered and as if on cue, my father’s girlfriend and her friends gasped and sobbed.

At that moment, I wondered if this was the same machine that had cremated my father’s father over 20 years ago.

Not the same

The flames could be seen through the curtain every time the men checked if Lola had been fully cremated

Hours later, the cremation was done, we were shown his bones before they were ground up and then we watched a man pour my father’s ashes into his urn. It was still warm when I picked it up.

Three cremation stories, two very different funeral homes. Don’t get me wrong, though—the staff at both places were kind (as they should be since they are dealing with people suffering through a most difficult time), but the experience just wasn’t the same. And it’s not just about the upkeep of facilities or state-of-the-art equipment—some of the best parts of Lola Lyd’s memorial service were extra touches of creativity that don’t really cost money.

When I talked to friends and coworkers about the disparity, they said, “Eh, baka naman malayo din ang presyo.”

And so, of course, I did my homework.

The cheapest cremation package at Funeraria X is P120,000 for seniors—and that includes the use of a chapel for a maximum of 25 I wish I wasn’t qualified to write this article, but my 2022 has been a nightmare version of that Richard Curtis film—no weddings and too many funerals.

My two grandmothers and my father all died within months of one another. And because humor is my way of coping with life’s darkness, I started to joke that I can now plan wakes like a pro.

Of course I knew…