Incredibly, Terribly, Sad

Incredibly, Terribly, Sad.

Each apartment building has a person who is responsible for it’s upkeep. That person sweeps the many stairs, keeps all the trash picked-up outside, sweeps the whole outside area, and overall, just tries to keep the place looking nice. It is definitely a lot of work, and I have always appreciated those people who do that job.

Upon our return in August, I noticed that there was a different lady cleaning up our outside area. She looked like she was in her early 60s, and I often felt bad for her, as I thought she was working way too hard. The first time I met her outside, I thanked her for her hard work in keeping the place looking nice. We ended up talking for quite some time together. She proudly told me about her daughter, just a little younger than me, and her two grandkids. I really, really liked her and began thinking about her specifically. Often, she would be outside cleaning up while I would be outside with the children. We would end-up talking together, and she did her best to talk to the girls in English. (She remembered a few simple phrases from her school years.) My heart was burdened for her, and it was my desire to get to know her better. She was often on my thoughts.

Yesterday afternoon as we were outside, I saw her broom. It was leaning against the side of our apartment building. I looked around for her, but I couldn’t see her anywhere. Funny, I thought. She isn’t one to forget to put her broom away.

This afternoon, while the kids were playing nicely in the sand, Inna asked me if I had watched the news last night. No, I hadn’t. She went on to tell me, that the lady who would keep the area outside our apartment building clean, was found dead yesterday. Dead. I was shocked. No, it just could not be. But yes, it is true. She was found right over there, and as Inna glanced in that direction, I realized it was the same place I had seen her broom yesterday. It must have been a heart attack, Inna went on to say.

I could not keep back the tears that welled-up in my eyes. That poor lady, I thought. She died without hope. Oh, if only… My heart was broken once again, incredibly broken for these people with whom we live.

Several minutes later, the people began coming. They were coming to convey their condolences to the lady’s family. They carried flowers, vodka bottles, and lots of cigarettes. Inna, perhaps noticing my confusion, explained what it all meant. She said that, in Tuvan culture, when one comes to convey their condolences to the grieving family members, they give them cigarettes and vodka. It does not matter if they themselves do not smoke or drink. It does not matter if the people they give them to do not smoke or drink. It is what they give the family members as a way to comfort them. Cigarettes and vodka are merely a sign of comfort.

Incredibly sad. They have no other way to comfort each other in such hopelessness except with cigarettes and vodka. Sad. Incredibly. Terribly. Sad.

The rest of the day, I can think of nothing else. I am just. so. sad. My heart aches for this dear lady, whom I considered a friend. My heart aches for her, she who died in hopelessness. Hopelessness. How I dislike that word. Oh, may there be HOPE among these people! May there be HOPE!

Either tomorrow or Saturday will be the funeral. It will take place right in our building. On the 9th floor. In the lady’s apartment. We will hear that oh, so very dismal music play again. And this time, it’s being played for someone we knew. Someone we considered a friend.

Death has not lost it’s sting in a place where there is no hope.
The sting of death. What a sting it is.
Hopelessness.
Oh, how incredibly, terribly, sad.