Where the ancient words come alive
The Loss
The Loss

The Loss

Most people will grieve at least three times in a lifetime, over parents, siblings,  spouse, and…maybe a child. My time of bereavement has not come. Yet, I didn’t expect my heart to bleed so soon. I lost a cousin I have loved and adored like a sister since the day I met her at age six.

My Grave Trekker

My husband lost his mother to a stroke in 1993 when he was in college. He has never expressed his grief. In fact, he would shut down whenever the topic of his mother came up. Any mention of death would lead to an uncomfortable silence. So I adjusted. I have been a Christian much longer than he has. My Christianity tells me it’s not a taboo to chat about coffins and tombstones. But in our home, we would never make light of dying. Sometimes I worry if he will ever let me choose our burial sites while I am still in my right mind. I just don’t like to scramble at the last minute.

This man may not like to talk about death, but over the years, he has attended all the funerals he’s ever known about. On some occasions, he’d insist that I make an appearance instead of hiding behind my excuse to tend to the children. I once went to a funeral in Chinatown while I was visibly pregnant, only to be reprimanded later. “It’s bad luck,” an elderly auntie said. I am not sure if she meant it is bad luck for the family in mourning or for myself. Since most funerals are held in the busiest part of Flushing and Chinatown, my husband would often ask me to go along to wait in the car while he dashes off to pay respect. Whenever he can, he’d follow the hearse to attend the burial after the wake or service.

This streak would end at the height of the COVID infection in May. He struggled to figure out whether to attend the funeral of an elderly whose son he has not seen for more than fifteen years. He moped around for days after deciding not to be at the burial in Westchester. When a distant relative passed that same month, he made sure he’d attend the funeral in June. He didn’t ask me to go with him to wait in the car, so he ended up circling the cemetery to find parking only to completely miss the service.

He was one despondent, grave trekker.

It would take twenty years of marriage to finally understand this man. He never properly mourned for his mom, but he mourns by showing up for the mourners. He was young and lost, now as an older man, he’s got a whole reservoir of empathy. Deep down in his heart, there was a gaping hole of void when the world did not show up as he faced a personal crisis, alone, confused, and scared, back in 1993.

The News

It was Labor Day. It was at 6:34 a.m., to be exact. A text message appeared to have waited for me on my phone screen. I had been preparing for this moment. I had dreams about it a few days ago.  But a part of me was still holding onto the miracle that she’d recover, day by day, and that she’d walk out of her room. After all, I had been in denial for four years, what is another week, or another month?

She passed at 11:15 p.m. the night before. I immediately tried to recall what I was doing at 11:15 p.m.  I was expecting some sort of synchronistic revelation, that somehow, I’d know the exact moment she drew her last breath.  No…at 11:15 p.m. I was watching the NBA playoff. The LA Lakers beat the Houston Rockets in an unexcited, Game 2 non-thriller.

Then I thought about my uncle. I worry about him at times.

And then I wonder why I did not burst out in tears.

I didn’t know mourning would come in spurts. I broke down four times in the next eighteen hours. But I’d quickly recover and carry on as usual. And I’d feel guilty for being able to laugh.

At the end of that emotional day, I was about to pass out in bed. My younger daughter came into my room and said, “Mom, how do you feel that she is not here anymore? You don’t seem bothered by it.”

I already had my head buried in the pillows. I mumbled, “Everyone copes differently.”

I thought I heard soft sobs as she walked away. Maybe they were sounds of whimpers in my head.

Farewell

My daughters and I used up one box of tissues during my cousin’s memorial service. I never knew I’d appreciate being able to wear a mask to cover a face with ruined make-up. Worn to a frazzle, my head pounded from lack of sleep. As I looked around and saw many loved ones around me, strangely I wondered if I will have the emotional and physical strength to go to all of their funerals down the road. They will all eventually pass on…, no? My cousin is blessed because she is now spared of such sorrows. She has an out-of-this-world assignment of greeting each one of us at the gate one day, the gate of The Celestial City, the eternal home for those that believe.

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