Reflection of Loss, Conversations with Death
About a month ago, I was casually strolling through Gramedia Melawai. I didn’t have a specific book in mind to buy; I just planned to pick up one that caught my eye.
Eventually, I settled on Things Left Behind by Kim Sae-byul and Jeon Ae Won. Its orange cover featured an illustration of an overhead view of a sunlit bedroom.
The enticing cover wasn’t the only reason I bought this book; it had been on my to-be-read list for ages. I kept putting off getting it, so I supposed it was the right moment.
This book served as the inspiration for the beloved K-Drama Move to Heaven (2021) that I cherish deeply. The premise is about two ‘trauma cleaners’, that according to Wikipedia is “cleaners who specialized in cleaning up after godoksa, deceased who died alone and isolated to the point where they are only discovered days later when their corpse decomposes.”
I’m always intrigued by the stories of those who encounter death regularly — whether it’s someone in a mortuary, a ‘trauma cleaner’, a grave digger, a palliative nurse, a forensic pathologist, or a grave keeper. It’s not the concept of death that captivates me, but rather the ways in which those involved with it navigate and cope.
Throughout my almost 26 years of life (if I can make it to 26, though), I’ve encountered several deaths of relatives, co-workers, and acquintances. However, since I wasn’t deeply connected to them, I didn’t experience profound grief. I just moved on quickly and went about my life.
It’s not until September, 18th 2022 when my good friend, Farah, passed away. She was only 24 when she left us.
Farah’s health had been declining way before her passing. Yet, just before she was hospitalized and fell into a coma, she remained active on social media, cheerfully replying to her friends’ Instagram stories and joked around a lot.
She ‘looked’ fine, she seemed fine. Or so she wanted us to think.
My friend Novam was the one who called me that night. His voice trembled in tears, as he was telling me that our friend had lost her battle after spending 14 days in the Intensive Care Unit (ICU). And I was frozen. I was so confused that for a second after I hang up, I even cackled a little. “Farah is… dead…?” I murmured.
And then I broke into tears for the whole night.
The next day, I showed up at work with swollen eyes. I remember staring blankly at my co-worker and told him, “Mas, my friend is dead.”
Before he even reacted to my sudden gloomy chirp, I bombarded him with questions. “It’s my first time experiencing this. Have you had friends who died? What did you do? How did you feel? What should I do? What should I feel?”
Farah’s death was an absolute heartbreak. I was sad but also there’s anger and shame in it. I was frustrated with myself for not being fully aware of her condition that led to her passing. I was furious because I didn’t have time to visit her in the hospital in her last days. I was ashamed to think that we were good friends — apparently I didn’t even know anything about her.
There were times when I hesitated to grieve her loss openly. It felt like an act, as if expressing my sorrow would make her death about me, especially considering that my grief is insignificant compared to what her family might have endured. I couldn’t begin to imagine the pain they must’ve felt.
Yet, I still felt the urge to pay my respects at her grave, just to say my last goodbye. When I ran my hand over Farah’s tombstone during my visit to her grave, the reality hit me like nothing I ever imagined.
No amount of tears will bring her back. She’s gone. She’s really gone.
Since then, the concept of death has taken on a profound weight for me. It’s no longer a distant notion; it’s a haunting, tangible reality that grips my heart. It’s the cruel reminder that my loved ones can be snatched away, leaving behind a void that nothing can fill.
Many people I know associate death with something closely mystical — ghosts, evil spirits, mysterious sightings, you name ‘em. But what really gets into me is the grief that comes with it.
Imagine living your life with people in it, then one day a person you know — or worse, you love — is no longer there. They just disappeared and you can not do shit about it. The next day you’re forced to live and go about your days without their presence just like that.
Even when you can visit their grave, knowing that the one buried beneath is someone who used to be in your life, doesn’t that thought ache within you?
So I made an effort. I chose the theme of grief for a talk show I was assigned to at work. I wrote articles on coping with grief based on insights from psychologists. I re-read Filosofi Teras, I read Things Left Behind, I read Kitchen — all touching on the heartbreak of loss. I met individuals who confront death daily to hear their experiences, all because deep down, I yearn to find the courage to confront my own grief.
Not long after I finished reading Things Left Behind, my boss asked me to cover a story about grave keeper. We were approaching Ramadhan and since pilgrimage is a popular activity during the month, it made sense to write something about it.
So I phoned Mr. Slamet, who has been looking after the Tanah Kusir Cemetery, South Jakarta for about 24 years in total. Thanks to a co-worker, Mas Grandy who was kind enough to give me Mr. Slamet’s number. He once beautifully photographed Mr. Slamet for a picture story in 2023.
Before interviewing Mr. Slamet, I needed to meet him in person and surveying the location as well. I didn’t want to rush to an interview. I’d rather get to know him well and let him tell me everything he wanted to say without the presence of a camera that could induce nervousness.
Tanah Kusir Cemetery is a very large burial ground. According to Wikipedia, it covers an area of more than 51 hectares divided by several blocks. Many public figures are also buried here. In short, this cemetery is quite well-known in the city, and probably in the country too.
Mr. Slamet has been taking care of the graves since he was in his late 20s. Since he was little, death is something he faced ‘every day’. He said, he often participated in the funerals and taking care of the graves afterwards.
When he grew up, he married the daughter of a grave keeper. He also followed in his father-in-law’s footsteps as a grave keeper and continued even after his father-in-law passed away.
More than two decades of witnessing the funerals of hundreds, maybe even thousands of people, has made Mr. Slamet consider death to be a normal thing. Heck, a funeral is just another Tuesday morning for him!
“By caring for graves, we reflect on ourselves. All humans will return to Sang Pencipta (the Creator of the universe). So there is no such thing as fear of death. Even though the dead cannot speak, they seem to teach us a lesson,” said Mr. Slamet in the interview, two weeks after I met him for the first time.
In the same cemetery, Slamet’s parents were buried. He explained that his parents’ grave is called makam tumpang or directly translated to ‘overlapping grave’. It’s where one grave is filled with two corpses, usually a husband and wife.
So, the place where he works is also the place where his parents’ corpses lie? I wonder how he felt while working knowing that his parents were also buried there. But I didn’t ask further about it. Fuck, why didn’t I ask about it?
During the interview, Mr. Slamet talked a lot about how important it is to take good care of graves. These graves may only look like mounds of soil, but they are the homes of departed souls. Like anyone, even the dead want their ‘house’ to be well maintained.
Mr. Slamet felt joy when the deceased’s family visited the grave. The fact that the deceased are not forgotten by their families and relatives warms his heart. Perhaps, deep down he also hopes to be remembered long after he’s gone.
I wish I could ask him deeper questions, especially questions about how he perceives death. However, I didn’t do proper research and preparation despite having plenty of time beforehand.
I guess I was lucky enough to not get scolded by my boss for the lack of depth in my interview. Okay then… lesson learned.
Mr. Slamet’s story is now published. The article I wrote was titled ‘Reflections of Mohammad Slamet, Keeper of the Home for the Dead’. In this article, a semi-documentary video about him is also attached. If you’re interested, I recommend giving it a watch.
Weeks after my meetup with Mr. Slamet, am I now friends with death? Of course not. The thought of death approaching my loved ones still crushes my heart and I still run away from it from time to time.
I haven’t come to terms with death as much as I had hoped. Frankly, I don’t think I ever will.
No matter how many times I meet those who are familiar with facing death, I doubt I’ll ever feel fully prepared to handle other deaths after Farah’s passing.
In the book Things Left Behind, Kim Sae-byul wrote, “Death is just a part of the universe. Flowers are flowers and caterpillars are caterpillars. There is no good or bad. Likewise life and death.”
Even though I agree with this, maybe I will never truly implement it in my life. Nonetheless, what I can commit to now is keeping the memory of my loved ones alive even after they’ve passed away.
I’ll hold them close in my thoughts and prayers, wishing for their peaceful journey in the afterlife. They’re always loved and I will let them know through my prayers.
My deceased loved ones might no longer here with me. But their kindness remain eternally.
In loving memory of Farah Azizatun Nuur, a life well lived.
(May 27th 1998 - September, 18th 2022)
