Losing a cherished (god)parent is one thing, but how are you supposed to feel about losing someone from your past you hadn’t thought about or seen in a long time?
Loss isn’t Equal, but Pain is Pain
Your experiences with this person was through a ‘you’ many versions ago. You’re no longer a child going to a family friend’s house to be babysat. You no longer see your ex-partner’s mother. You haven’t seen that adopted grandma since you moved to another city.
I’ve come to learn that if someone meant anything to you, it doesn’t hurt any less. Even if you’ve only seen them twice in the last decade. The time you spent together was, and will be, cherished.
An Auntie’s Sister
Recently, one of my mom’s good friend’s sister passed away. She’s so family that we weren’t really aware of her name. Yee Yee was what my brother and I called her, same as her niece and nephew, which means “Mother’s Sister.”
Sadly, only at her funeral did I learn her Chinese and English names. And that she was a basketball player, so legit that by playing professionally in China protected her from government-mandated farm work. I knew that she liked the sport, but had no clue how important it was in her history. All these stories that only seemed appropriate to be told after her death, I wish we had learned while we were still young.
I also had no idea she was battling cancer. Even the younger generation in her family were given mostly vague answers. And probably wouldn’t have found out about her condition had they not come across mail from the cancer agency addressed to her. In Chinese culture, we tend not to tell people about their imminent death—fair enough, different cultures have different viewpoints on death. I was just surprised to find out that the people excluded from the truth could also be extended to adult children.
It struck me hard that someone I hadn’t thought about in a while, who’s no longer in my day-to-day or even once-a-year life wouldn’t be on this earth anymore. “What an obvious fact of life,” you’re probably thinking. But when you first come to learn about someone’s gone forever, your whole worldview shatters. I can’t stop crying even if I’m not thinking directly about her, and I hate that feeling. But at the same time I also can’t help but cling onto the sadness, because it meant there was so much love for her, that I didn’t even know existed.
When my brother and I saw her the most, she was living with her sister who’d drive us back to their house after our weekly Cub Scouts meetings. So every weekend after standing and saluting for an hour we’d get treated to Church’s Chicken, the boys would play video games (I’d sometimes indulge as well), and all of us would run up and down the house. She would be there; didn’t interfere much. Other than weekly events, our families often traveled together, tried so many new Chinese restaurants, and checked out local events like the ice palace held in Vancouver one random year.
The Thread that Binds Us
Two memories in particular stand out to me.
As a naïve university student, I became interested in the possibility of pursing fashion, and had the slightest interest in learning how to sew. She knew, and gifted me her old–but my first–industrial sewing machine. I was extremely excited at having something so profesh! But when I got it, I looked at it and thought, “Where am I going to put it?!” Industrial machines are scary, so I didn’t even know how to even thread it. It sat unused in our attic for a while, then got moved to a shed. I feel ashamed to have let it rust in that makeshift shed. But remembering how she thought of me is so precious.
The other time was when we went shopping. She happened to be at our house a few days after Christmas, and being the superficial 20-something I was, I simply had to chase down a shirt from one of my favourite stores (Off the Wall, anyone?). It was only available in Coquitlam Centre, a full 40 mins away from where I live. I casually asked her if she would like to come, and surprisingly she agreed. I have no idea what we talked about in the car since we didn’t have that much in common. Looking back, that hardly mattered. I got to spend some time with her. And now I have this memory to keep.
Sunshine After the Rain
If I can be honest, I was mad at myself for forgetting about her after we became adults. When you start taking on a host of adult responsibilities, who has time to upkeep relationships? We have rent, taxes, mortgages to pay – all the while we were expected to ‘live our best life.’ It makes me sad that I didn’t make a bigger effort to see her. Granted, other family dynamics were at play.
Yee Yee’s death was unexpected, but they’re kind of wake-up calls of impending mortality (sorry). Hopefully, with each person who passes away in our lives (and they will), after we feel all the feelings, we use it as an opportunity to inspire us to action.
For me, this is the third person in what I like to call my Auntie Network that I’ve lost. (Aunties are the general Asian term for women around your mom’s age). It never occurred to me how big an impact aunties have had in my life. They’re all goddesses in their own rights, they include friends’ moms who watched me grow up, an Indian grandmother who folded linens when I worked at a restaurant, my Italian godmother, an auntie I spent a summer in China with, an 80-something grandma in New York who was completely understanding (say what?!) when I told her I was seeing a black guy, and of course, those close family friends.
I’m making it a goal to reach out to as many aunties in my life to visit them or send them a message of love.
xo, Miranda
PS. Yee Yee, I love you and didn’t even know how much you meant to me til you left us. I didn’t even know how much sadness I felt until I started writing this. I miss you, can’t believe I never got to see you to say goodbye, but your memory is kept alive in my heart.
