Vaska

Empty chairs beneath the willow tree.

Finding Vaska's obituary certificate near the Orthodox Church in Novaci.

SAD NEWS
"It is with great sadness and a painful heart that we communicate to all relatives and friends that our dear wife, mother and grandmother,

Vasiliya Doichinovska

76 years old

has died on 21-06-2012 at 11:30pm after a short illness

Home: Village of Novaci

Funeral and burial will be held on 22-06-2012 at 1pm in the cemetery in the Village of Novaci."

Cemetery in a village near Kratovo.

“Three grand essentials to happiness in this life are something to do, 

something to love, and something to hope for.” 

– Joseph Addison

Well, I’m afraid it was my neighbor Vaska – wife of Tiro – who passed on from this life first.  And Tiro’s still kickin’ 4 months after his stroke, despite given a few weeks or months to live.  Vaska’s death and preceding sudden decline in health came as a shock to us all.  It was as if she was living for her beloved, Tiro, and once his health deteriorated following his stroke back in April, she stopped clinging to life and let go.  Within a few weeks of Tiro’s stroke, Vaska fell ill and ended up in the hospital.  Doctors found an array of suppressed ailments – from high cholesterol and blood pressure to full-on diabetes.  With all these layers of illness building up within her over the years, I can’t help but wonder what it was that kept those illnesses at bay – was it having something to love or something to hope for?  

I’ve heard that emotional well-being and mental health can greatly affect physical health, and I’d like to think that Vaska and Tiro lived for each other.  I’m awed by stories of aged couples who have been married well into their years, and then pass on within a few days or weeks of each other.  There was also a lot of “something to do” here for Vaska and Tiro.  You see, life in rural Macedonia can be very demanding, requiring hard labor and harsh living conditions.  Vaska lived well into her seventies in a two-room house, with an outside kitchen and outhouse.  When you share your home with nature, each season has its own demands: in winter there’s wood-chopping, chimney cleaning and shoveling paths through the snow to the kitchen, outhouse, water pump, and main road – not to mention shoveling a clearing around your entire house to prevent moisture from creeping in the foundation cracks (as Tiro often did); in spring there’s greenhouse construction and field burning; in summer there’s gardening and weeding (by hand) the whole yard; and in fall there’s ajvar, wine and rakia (whiskey) making, not to mention canning galore to last the family through a fruits-and-veggies-sparse winter.   When I first met Vaska and Tiro this past winter, they were bustling around outside, getting things done.  I remember offering once, in my broken Macedonian, to help chop their wood.  Tiro straight up laughed at me.  He may have seen my rusty attempts to chop my own wood – but hey, I got the job done! J The elders here in Macedonia, they are resilient.  And whether or not they have something to love or hope for, they most certainly have something to DO.

When I heard word of Vaska’s death, I was on vacation in the UNESCO heritage site of Lake Ohrid in southwest Macedonia with my boyfriend of 7 months, Igorche, and my first American visitor and former Denver roommate, Patrick McLennan.  It was nice to be in the company of such thoughtful friends, with whom conversations can dive into the great life questions with ease.  It was comforting to sit out on the peaceful balcony of our B&B at twilight, and share our thoughts on life and death and all the profundity in-between.  By the time we returned home from Ohrid, Vaska had long been buried.  Funeral rituals happen quickly here, within a day or two of the death.   I’ve been to 2 funerals thus far, one in Kratovo and one in Novaci earlier this spring, and found each to be an intimate ordeal.  It is customary for friends and family to pay respects to the deceased by making a home visit, where the body (both times in my experience) was laying restfully, albeit a bit eerily, on the living room couch, surrounded by seated family members mourning in solid black attire.  As I entered the living room both times, air thick with the smell of bodies and candles, I brought with me both chocolates and money, which I diligently delivered to the designated areas surrounding the body.  After lighting a candle on the alter set up specifically for this occasion, I expressed my condolences to each of the seated mourners with a specific Macedonian phrase (that I had to repeat over and over again in my head so I wouldn’t forget).  After a few hours of visitors, many of whom wait outside the house, the time comes to process with the body (now moved into an open casket) to the graveyard.  In Kratovo, this entailed pall bearers carrying both the casket and a number of religious items, followed by a trail of family and friends, winding our way through the narrow cobble-stone streets of Kratovo on foot, before finally walking up the hilly highway out of town to the graveyard several kilometers above the town.  Once at the graveyard, mourners gathered round the grave as the Orthodox priest led a short service, followed by each of us throwing a handful of dirt onto the lowered casket.  Many women (and perhaps men too) continue to wear all black for months or even years following the death of a loved one.  Obituaries take the form of blue and white certificates that are posted around town, usually on telephone poles and at the entrance of the person’s home.  It includes a photo of the deceased, along with a brief bio.  I came across Vaska’s obituary when I was walking past the Orthodox Church, down the street from my house.  Pictures are on my blog, along with an English translation. 

So now I am neighborless.  Tiro has long been moved out of their little house to a hospice-style nursing home in the nearby city of Bitola (so I’ve been told).  Their two chairs under the big weeping, willow tree sit empty, and it is as though the willow truly does weep their loss, as its branches (once trimmed nicely) now nearly brush the ground when they sway in the wind.  The yard, too, runs wild.  After Vaska’s death, a single orange flower bloomed on the small fence overgrown with green foliage that separates our halves of the property.  I miss their presence:  their daily comings and goings from their yard to mine; the tiger print blanket covering the doorway to their outdoor kitchen; Tiro’s delightful laugh and whimsical look each time he saw me; Vaska’s loving proclamation “Таа е нашата чупе! She is our girl!” to my parents the first (and only) time they were able to Skype.

Well, my dear Vaska, it was an honor to be your girl, if only for a short while.  Thank you for welcoming me into your life and into your home.  Pray that I, too, may discover my happiness: something to do, something to love and something to hope for.