In honor of this day, I went with my host family to my host grandparents' house. But this time it was the parents of my host dad. I really did not want to go, though, because last night I found myself really not feeling well during dinner, to the point where I stopped eating entirely because my body was screaming at me. I went up to bed and when I woke up this morning, I still wasn't feeling well. It was a really weird stomach ache that came in waves. Just the thought of doing things or going places or eating (cause I was hungry) caused my body to yell NO at me. So I wasn't feeling like going to a lunch where there would be plenty of food that just looking at it would make me queasy... But I went anyways, met the family, and had some smalltalk conversation before the meal. The crowd consisted of me and my host parents and brothers, my host dad's parents, uncle, and a cousin (who, by the way, was wearing PURPLE PANTS) and his girlfriend. I spent a lot of time talking to her. She was very nice and we talked about a lot of different things. It was kind of hard for me though, because everyone kept offering me wine and food, but the very thought of it made me feel queasy. And I felt like I was being very rude, but nobody seemed to understand that I just really did not feel well. Although my host grandmother did give me some sort of herbal remedy medication...
Luckily, by the time we were ready to eat, I was feeling decent enough to take small portions and eat a full meal. We started off with a vegetable soup. Then we had a sort of meatloaf that had bacon on top of it, cauliflower, another sort of vegetable who's name escapes me (we do not have that in Parma, Ohio), cooked pears with a sort of cherry jelly in the middle of them, and of course, frites. Overall, the meal was very good. We finished it with a cake that my host dad had made that had pears in it. That was delicious, as usual.
After dinner, we spent a little time talking, walking around the garden, and trying not to freeze to death in the cold Belgian air. Then most of us went over to the church around 3pm for the Stations of the Cross. I understood nothing, but I recognized the Hail Mary and said that prayer a few times to myself. We then went over to the cemetery, and that's where I about cracked.
Cemeteries here are so different from in the States. Obviously, they serve the same purpose. But walking into that cemetery, first of all, it was quite a bit smaller. But the graves were not. Not by any means. Every single one was raised out of the ground, with giant plaques coming out of the ground, intricately carved with the persons name and different figures and designs. Most were marble and some had huge cross statues as well. Some had the pictures of the people on the tombstone as well. They were huge and beautiful and detailed and just overwhelming. Not to mention that every single grave was COVERED in flowers. Just covered. And I don't mean people came by and dropped a single rose. I mean HUGE bouquets of flowers everywhere. People had also put plaques with messages on them on the graves. It was astounding. And nobody in that cemetery was crying. Everyone was having conversation, smiling, and praying for their loved ones. It almost made ME cry, because it was just seeing how much the people really do care about the people that they lost. They have mourned the loss, and now they celebrate the life that they lived. It was amazing. I can't even really describe how it made me feel because it was all just so new to me. I am used to going to cemeteries, walking around quietly, solemnly, grieving. Crying. Searching through tiny little stones that are flat against the ground, maybe with the occasional forgotten flower tossed towards it. This was so far from that... It truly was a celebration of life and remembrance. Overwhelming. And beautiful.
And now, I sleep well, knowing that the ones that I have lost, that I love, are happy in heaven with God. And I think fondly of them, and celebrate their lives.
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