Tragedy in Paradise.
I have sat at my computer for almost two weeks, struggling to even begin. Twelve days ago we lost our friend Papillo. He has suffered with asthma and on that particular day he was attacked in a severe way and couldn’t manage to keep his breath. His cousin Hector asked if we could drive him to the closest hospital 45 minutes away. Scott and Jason jumped in the car and began to speed to the hospital, but Papillo stopped breathing after only reaching Pavones. Jason performed CPR, bringing him back to breath once. Mike, a local medic came and helped perform CPR. He wondered if perhaps Papillo’s heart failed him during the struggle for air. He died there in Pavones. Outside of the hardware store, in a town that knew him well. Within an hour, the word had spread and the streets were littered with his family and friends standing blankly in shock.
When Scott and Jason got in the car to take Papillo, I did not think for one moment that he could potentially die. As I walked down our driveway headed toward the sunset, Papillos family came running at me frantically screaming in Spanish and crying and throwing arms around me. I couldn’t make out what they were saying. I tried to tell them Papillo was fine, on his way to the hospital with Scott. Finally I kneeled down to his grandmother who is in a wheelchair. I watched her eyes looking for the truth. She said, “Papillo no mas.” Meaning, Papillo no more.
Death is a crazy thing. Such a surreal experience to comprehend, as the people that are left behind. Here one moment, and gone the next. Who decides this shit? Papillo had a bright future. He worked hard and gifted our lives with too much to mention. His presence and friendship was above all the most treasured. Watching him and Scott laugh together everyday was a beautiful thing. An unlikely bond of brothers. In the weeks before his death, I got to dance with him to all the Spanish hits, ride on the back of his bike through the night, laugh like children as we pushed each other on a massive beach swing under the moon, and have my heart melt from the sweetest compliment I have ever received. Papillo was a gentle soul. Is still a gentle soul. I can feel him all over this town. Such a strong realization of the body as merely a vessel.
We spent days with his family, learning the unique cultural differences of grieving. How different and yet all the same these processes are for people across the world. Jason and Sassy spent the day cleaning the church, while Scott and I went to every house along the road with Papillo’s cousin Tatiana. We asked for money or food donations. We raised enough for the burial to be taken care of and enough food to feed all the extended family that was here. We met the whole town that day, standing at their doors with heavy hearts. Over the next days, people would stop to talk to us. Many of Papillos brothers who had never talked to us much before, now made a point of thanking Scott, in small and broken words. A sincerity that often brought tears. Our relationship with Papillo was recognized on many levels now and this seemed to open the hearts of people that were maybe guarded before. We see this as yet another of Papillos gifts to us. We felt apart of this town more than we ever had.
As soon as his body arrived back from an autopsy, he was taken to the graveyard to be buried. At 3:00am on Sunday the towns of Punta Banco and Pavones drove out 45 minutes to the graveyard and buried his body in a tomb above ground. His aunt asked (told) Scott to help carry the coffin over to the tomb. Watching my brother honor his friend like this, knowing how painful and displaced he was feeling, made me prouder than proud. Once his brothers had finished cementing the tomb closed, everyone left the graveyard. Scott, Sassy, Linda and I shared some coffee, bread and butter and drove home. Chaos had subsided. This was the first moment that truly allowed loss to sink in.
We had our own sunset ceremony the next day. Femke led us in a meditation, halfway up the property. We sat in a circle, listening to the sounds of the jungle, feeling the breeze, embracing the tears and supporting each other.
The next days were strange. Not waking up to the sound of Papillo’s bike at 7am. Not pouring his coffee. Staring at the cement blocks that had just been delivered. Not knowing where to start with the construction that he had planned to begin on that Monday. A certain whole in our lives. I felt like running away from this heart broken town.
Envision festival was the following week and I asked my sister if she could find me a ticket. She immediately did, and one week later I was on a bus with Jason and our Dutch friends headed to Uvita to find reprieve in music and dance. Four days of camping in the jungle, meeting new friends, dancing until the sun came up and finding myself in the moment, once again. The first days were hard. I still needed to cry, I found myself telling strangers stories of Papillo. I found myself missing Scott in a serious way. I realized that this experience had brought us closer than what was already close in a deep way. I learned of letting go. Surrendering to all of it… the jungle, the loss, the future, the past. This was exactly where I needed to be at that moment.
I’m home now. It feels perfectly right. I love this town. I love the people. I love our place here. I love our space. I am forever connected to this land. And so is Papillo. His presence will live on here, in our home and in our hearts.
