Some of us will die on this land

I know it’s depressing to talk about death, loss and bereavement but some recent events made me think more and more about this topic.

Sose and Allen

A couple of months ago, the sudden death of a young repat couple, Sosé and Allen shook the whole repat community in Armenia. The funny thing is that for most of us who move to Armenia, we mostly think of how to make it here, how to find a job, build a home, find our place. We rarely reflect on how we will die here on this land. I know that this can be a depressing topic for some but I wanted to share it anyways, since it’s been haunting me for the past months. I think being a mom of four kids is adding also on the stress of thinking on these issues.

You can climb Ararat 

A couple of years ago, when Levon, a middle-aged repat passed away alone of a heart attack in his apartment while his family was in the US, I started thinking of different scenarios of what I would do if I was faced with such a tragedy. How do you deal with these issues in a new country?  How do you think and keep sane when you don’t have immediate family close by? One day, I asked a repat friend where he wanted to get buried if he died in Armenia? He looked at me shocked and started panicking. First he said “here, on this land”, then he wasn’t so sure. He thought of his family there. He felt that he belonged there as well. Then, of course he changed the topic. Who wants to talk about death when you came on this land to live with so many hopes and plans, right?

Each culture has its own way of expressing and dealing with grief and mourning. Armenia, in this area, is still very much influenced by former Soviet Union customs and traditions: meaning every single detail is dealt in the family not in funeral homes (as we know it in the west).

Mima is gone, but not entirely

Finally back to Canada, with the entire family.  When we leave a place, we never really leave it completely; we just grab some parts of it and take it with us everywhere, then add some parts to it over time. We collect fragments of life through our journey across borders and lifestyles. Sometimes we let go of some parts, we hold on desperately to others. We rarely let go completely. So each return starts with a feeling of unease.

On the 4^th morning after my arrival to Montreal, Mima passed away. The nurse at the elderly home said it was a beautiful death. I am not sure what that meant. Sometimes people need to say those things to comfort the family. I guess she meant that she died peacefully in her sleep without bothering anyone. I am happy for her, since she was looking forward to this day, especially after the death of her husband, my grandfather over 15 years ago. She never managed to find a meaning to her life after that. She was one of those women who devoted all their life to their family. She opened her first bank account at 70, after my grandfather’s death, to receive her pension. I don’t remember her having any kind of hobby or interest in life other than what was going on in the kitchen and in the house. Dado (my grandfather) used to take her everywhere, entertain her and decide for her well-being. When he died, her life collapsed. She relied heavily on my mom afterwards, but it wasn’t the same. After 50 years with my grandfather she never thought that she’d one day be left alone to manage her own life.