The New Orleans Funeral Procession

This is not how I pictured the last day of my New Orleans trip to go. One moment I was casually walking through a neighborhood with a friend, and the next I found myself in the middle of a procession jubilantly dancing down the street like a hive of buzzing bees.

In fact, I didn’t even plan to be in New Orleans until a couple of days ago when my friend, Evangeline who is studying at a college in the Big Easy, suggested that I come down here to enjoy myself and attempt to clear my head from the loss I was experiencing. Three months ago, my father died of a heart failure at the ripe age of 56. I’m still in the middle of processing my father’s death, but I have a nagging feeling that I’d have an easier time processing it if his heart had waited merely 157 more days to fail. At least then he could’ve watched me proudly walk across the graduation stage and grab the college diploma that he dreamed of me holding and worked so tirelessly towards for the past three decades. It may just be a piece of paper, but in his eyes, it represented the key to securing a bright future that entailed more doors than he had ever come across in his life. That milestone was to be the culmination of all of the sacrifices he had made as a Bangladeshi immigrant who, in 1987, fearlessly left behind everything he knew. He ventured to the land of opportunity in hopes of staking a new life for himself and his posterity. And stake that life he did as he endlessly worked as a physicist to ensure he could send me to college and earn the degree that would mark me as a qualified individual in this society.

But now, he’ll never get the chance to see his daughter graduate. I wonder if he’s rolling in his grave since he was cheated of the reassurance that his daughter’s future is set. If only his heart functioned for a few more months, he could’ve seen me stride across that stage. You know, whenever I imagined myself walking across that stage - which I do quite often - my eyes would always be fixed on the same person in the crowd: my father. He was the one who consistently cheered me on and motivated me to get to where I am. But if he’s not here to see it, then what’s the point in graduating? What’s the point in living? Soon after my father’s death, I had spiraled into a dark abyss full of these thoughts, which became so all-encompassing that I had no choice but to take a break from my studies. Although it’s already been three months, these thoughts have yet to surrender a hold on my mind.

Evangeline got wind of my condition, and fearing my mental health would continue to deteriorate to a point of no return, suggested I come down and spend a few weeks with her. Although I was very stubborn about it in the beginning, she finally managed to persuade me after constantly pestering me that I needed a change of surroundings and that travelling would clear my mind. At the time I didn’t really put any weight on her words. Little did I know that this trip would go on to become life-changing because of one fateful encounter…

Besides scheduling to be in New Orleans for roughly two weeks, I didn’t plan much. And on par with the flow of the trip thus far, we spent our last day spontaneously doing whatever came to mind. On that day, we went to a cafe downtown and then strolled through a nearby neighborhood. To be honest, the trip ended up serving as a nice distraction from my agonizing thoughts. Throughout the trip, she carefully made sure not to broach the subject of my father’s death as I had requested earlier. I understand from her point of view as a friend, especially one as caring as her, it would be difficult to avoid the unsaid subject. Although she continued to respect my wishes, it seemed the world had other plans for me when I was forced to confront the matter on the last day of my trip. As we continued walking down the street, we saw the most curious thing in the distance. Evangeline turned to me excitedly and said, “Prithi, do you see that crowd over there? By the sound of it, I bet it’s a funeral procession!”

Her reaction instantly caught me off guard. Why would she be so excited over something as depressing as a funeral? Not to mention, the word funeral triggered thoughts about my recently deceased father, the one thing I absolutely wanted to avoid ruminating over on this trip. Wearing a confused look on my face, I asked, “Why do you sound so enthusiastic? I don’t see why one would be excited over a funeral.”

She replied with a laugh, “No, silly! This isn’t just any funeral. It’s a New Orleans funeral. It’s...it’s...I don’t know how to explain it, but to put in plainly, it’s far from your average funeral. It involves a brass band and lines of people dancing. Onlookers can even join in if they want. It’s really an event to bring the community together to celebrate a life rather than mourn over it.”

I carefully ask, “I don’t mean to be offensive, but isn’t it insensitive to use a person’s death as an excuse to party and celebrate? And wouldn’t you want people to mourn over your passing? How else would you know that you were loved - that you were an important part of their lives?”

Evangeline says with her brows slightly furrowed, “Well, the fact that so many people are gathered around is evidence enough that that person played an integral part in so many people’s lives. And we’re not using death as an excuse to celebrate. Instead, we’re transforming sadness and grief into joy and celebration. This is your first time coming across a funeral like this, so I bet you’re experiencing quite a bit of culture shock. But I know a way to help you wrap your mind around the idea of a celebratory funeral… join one!”

Evangeline quickly grabbed my hand before I even had a chance to respond and pulled me to a line forming behind what seemed to be the family. Soon, I’m surrounded by people wildly dancing to some upbeat jazz music played by an assortment of brass trumpets, tubas, trombones, and saxophones. Evangeline immediately got into a grove, twisting her body and waving her arms, all while I looked at her with a flabbergasted expression. Even though there’s so much motion going on around me, I found myself frozen in a state of shock. It wasn’t until Evangeline

yelled at me from a few feet ahead, “Come on, Prithi!” that I gathered my wits and began to proceed along with the crowd.

Once I managed to catch up to Evangeline, she flashed me a wide smile that bore no hint of an apology. And as I was about to speak my mind, she grabbed my hands and started moving our arms to the rhythm. Although I never consented to being dragged into this exuberant and lively

procession, it didn’t take long for the music to take hold of me, causing me to let go of any anger and frustration that had bubbled up. Looking back, I probably looked foolish flailing around my body, but any ounce of self-consciousness was overtaken by a desire to have a good time. And glancing around and seeing everyone laughing, dancing, and simply enjoying themselves, it wasn’t difficult at all to follow suit and give myself to the music.

While I was immersing myself in the music, I experienced something so incredible. The only fitting way to describe it would be cathartic: I was able to come to terms with all of the grief, pain, and sorrow I felt over my father’s death. Although I shouldn’t have been thinking about my father while celebrating someone else’s life, my mind unconsciously filtered to thoughts of him. However, instead of being attached with feelings of hurt and sadness, I felt a warm feeling in my heart. What I felt was a sense of inner peace. And the moment I did, I burst into tears - happy tears brought about by this celebratory funeral. For so long, thoughts of my father only produced pain so deep and sharp that I resorted to not thinking about him at all. I mean, I went on this very trip to distract myself from thinking about him. But upon reflection, I realize that the only reason it was painful was because I was struggling to process his death. Day in and day out, all I would do is feel remorse and ask questions like, “Why him?” or “Why now of all times?”

Yet through this procession, I found myself viewing my father in a different light. Instead of focusing on the tragic circumstances of his death, his accomplishments and the positive impact he made on my life came to mind. In doing so, I realized that even in the short time he lived, he did so much and was able to accomplish the very thing he wanted to: instill values of hard work, bravery, and self-determination and inspire me to dream big and achieve the things he never could. So what if he couldn’t see me grab my diploma? He made sure I would be set for life by the time I left for college by raising me the way he did and fostering those values. This whole time I thought that his end goal was to see me graduate. Sure, a degree is great and all, but what he wanted for me was so much greater than that. Because it isn’t a piece of paper that will determine if I succeed or fail in life, but the person I am. As I experienced that reckoning, I sent my father the following message:

Baba, I don’t know if you’re watching over me right now, but if you are, I want to say thank you for everything. I’ll make sure to live my life to the fullest so I can make you proud. I’ll work hard and make the most of the opportunities I come across so all of your sacrifices won’t go to waste. After all, it was you that enabled me to come into contact with such opportunities by bravely

coming to this land of opportunity. I’ll make sure to grow up and live a happy, fulfilling life; one worthy of all the years you labored.

By the time I was done sending that mental message to him, the procession reached the church, signalling that it’s time for the onlookers to go on their way. As Evangeline looked to me to feel me out and inquire what’s next on our itinerary, she noticed the tears staining my cheeks and asked, “Prithi, is everything alright?”

I replied, “Everything is more than alright. That was one of the most relieving, wholesome experiences of my life. I will never forget it. Thank you for bringing me along and opening my mind to such a beautiful funeral tradition.”

“Oh, thank goodness! I thought you were upset at me for dragging you along, but then again, it seemed like you were really enjoying yourself back there,” Evangeline said while mimicking my outlandish dance moves.

“Hey!” I said as I playfully slapped her arm. “But in all seriousness, this was a great trip. I thought I was going to regret it, but going through that funeral procession really changed my outlook on a number of things, including my father’s death.” At the mention of my father, Evangeline swiftly looked at me. Seeing her shocked eyes, I said in an attempt to relive her worries, “Don’t worry, I’m actually in a place where I can talk about him without breaking down. Believe it or not, I experienced a sort of catharsis during the procession and came to peace with his passing.”

“Oh, really? Then I’d say you understand New Orleans funerals fairly well. It was pretty smart of me to drag you along and force you to experience one for yourself, wasn’t it,” she said to me in a manner that was half-joking and half-genuine.

“Yeah, it was,” I said to her with a content smile on my face.

Suddenly, the sound of a jazz band playing slowly grew, signaling the band’s return.

“Looks to me like the procession’s ready to head to the burial site. Do you want to rejoin them, Prithi?” Evangeline asked me.

This time I was the one to quickly grab her hand and head to the second line forming in the back.