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Show MsHPipfioit Wsaun BflaDiPiiii i Tossing flowers into the sea,. Upon most of us, the hand of destiny falls lightly. Our days are innocent of grief; we have no longings for immortality. We live for tomorrow and waste not regrets on yesterday. Unless we have the gypsy's gift of clairvoyance or are dumb enough to believe in astrology we are not deluded that this day, this decision, this rendezvous is likely to change our lives forever. Or end them. Indeed, we feel the eerie touch of destiny only when we look back and reflect. ("If I hadn't stayed that extra day in Paris, I might never have met Pierre!") Sometimes, though, it is our next of kin who must look back and reflect. And that is what thousands of mourners around the world are doing this week as the shock of 269 persons murdered in the sky by a Soviet missile wears off finally and real life is resumed. "If only they hadn't taken the children," may be the commonest complaint. This particular anguish was sharpened last Thursday when a Japanese fisherman found the body of a small child, perhaps eight or 10, "partially decomposed." Psychologists say that the shock to loved ones is most acute when death comes violently and unexpectedly. A new book, "The Anatomy of Bereavement" (Basic Books) praises the old-fashioned funeral and says that an open coffin with the body in serene repose greatly eases the sense of loss. "Without seeing the body," writes Beverly Raphael, an Australian physician, "the death may be very dif ficult to accept and resolve." Special difficulties arise when no body is found or when a plastic sack arrives at a funeral home with the stern warning, "Remains not viewable." (This happened all too often of-ten in the Vietnam years.) The crash of that Korean airliner distressed the civilized world because it reminded each of us that death is out there around the next corner...or over the next cloud. "Death's time is its own... It comes when it wishes," writes Dr. Raphael. In our Western culture, only a few countries recognize that the mourning ritual must be an "emotional catharsis," cathar-sis," a long, anguished wail. Italians, Greeks and the Irish all understand this and their wakes and funerals are marked by days of wailing and "keening." Our Anglo-Saxon culture, with its stiff upper lip, its stylish cremation followed by memorial service, ser-vice, denies our primitive need to scream against fate. The Koreans, in their ancient wisdom, go ahead and scream. Their ultimate acceptance of a loved one's death may come with less pain. To those of us who watched (on TV) the Korean families tossing flowers into in-to the sea and "calling the dead," our own funeral rites seemed shabby and austere. Dr. Raphael, one imagines, would also approve of the mass memorial service in Seoul's largest stadium. More than 100,000 attended, many with banners denouncing the Soviet. ("Red Bear, back to the zoo," said one.) In New York City where 100,000 Koreans now live, Americans are being introduced to mourning customs we never saw before. Photographs of dead kinfolk appeared in Korean grocery stores (of which there are hundreds). Sounds of grief wild wracking sobs, primitive wails were heard from backrooms. Those of us who have lost loved ones understood. When my husband died on a chilly evening in autumn I found that my thoughts of him were unconsciously concerned with the weather. Going through the sad business of Christmas shopping that year, I spent hours looking at mufflers, fur gloves, heavy dressing gowns. "If only I could send him something warm," I confided to a friend. A small newspaper item brought back that wish. On the day the Korean mourners tossed their flowers into the sea, the father of a lost boy added a small sweater to his offering. "My son, my son," he cried, "you must be freezing." This was the moment I first wept for the 269. "Full fathom five" they lie... and only those who mourn can feel the pain. "The Anatomy of Bereavement" says that healthy people, after a year of profound grief, allow the dead to slip quietly away. Blessed are they who mourn, for grief repressed is grief that cripples the mourner. How nice it would be if we all could toss flowers into in-to the sea and call our farewells across eternity. Copyright 1983 Harriet Van Home Distributed by Special Features Syndication Sales |