One Hundred Days

One hundred days after my grandmother was cremated, we moved her from her temporary resting place to her formal eternal resting place.  Her urn was strapped to her eldest son and a small procession of golf carts climbed up the tomb-laden hill that would hold her entire family's final resting places.  She is the first inhabitant.

Chinese traditions and a lack of space on a small island have created huge parks of tombs which range as widely in architecture and appearance as the residences of the living do in Taiwan.  Our family invested well in eternal real estate - the windswept hill is neatly kept by a professional company, all smooth reflective grey marble, silently overlooking a rugged seashore below.  We chanted buddhist rites and made offerings to the god of the earth and to our grandmother.  We burnt her paper money to play mahjong with so she could make friends with her new neighbors.

Rest in peace, Nai-nai.  You are home.