How we remembered, and honored our loved ones after they’d been, gone…translated…
My father who’s ninety-seven is in his dreams, I didn’t wake him. Bring along a poem I just finished, I’d passed through the city ravaged by the rain, through your silent lying on the side, listening to the waves, with the Guanying Mountain in the distances, gazing up at the morning, star.
Dad is slowly losing his memories now, forgotten that you’d, left, forgotten that he’d, cried over you, didn’t remember the heartaches. When he’d longed and asked for you, I’d always told him, “mom’s watching T.V.” or, “mom went to bed already!”, then, the small room we were in, fell into, that boundless, silence.
Dad’s been blind a long time, with only the dying hearing remained out of his right year, last night, he’d complained of not hearing your calls of late. I’d, modeled after the trembling hands that you had in your Parkinson’s, held on to his thin, frail, palm, he’d, smiled and took my hand, kissed it gently, and his, silvery white stubbles, gave me the tingling pains.
At age ninety-seven, dad’s still dreaming, I’d not waken him up. The raging rain released a bit, the flowers outside, all fallen to the pavement, the springtime thunder rolled at the tip of the end of the distant, skies, the morning, patted my face gently like you’d done before, reminded me to get a gulp of warm water before I head out. I’d come to before you, patted the plaque of your spirit, I’d brought you a kiss, the kiss that’s, kept on your, mind.
So, this is in death, how we remembered our loved ones. We keep these rituals of worship, to keep those whom we’d loved and lost, still alive in the, memories, and somehow, this ritualistic behavior, can help us, cope with death better…
How do you, teach a young child about loss, about, death, to help them, grieve for the loss of a, best friend??? On the lessons of life and death, translated…
As We Were Feeling Sad that the Young Life is Lost, How Would My Six-Year-Old Young Grandson, Face with Losing His, Best Friend……………
After my eldest grandson came home from school, he kept stating, “after I tell grandpa a story, I will be, filling up the balloons”. I’d agreed in no time, and waited until he’d finished reading to me, his dad said, it was getting late and they should head home, he’d become, angry, felt that the adults didn’t keep their promises, stressed that he will, fill up the balloons before he heads home.
I couldn’t understand why he was so stubborn about filling the ballons, I’d picked him up and asked, “it’s really late, mom’s waiting for you at home, can’t you fill up the balloons tomorrow?”, suddenly, he got teary eyed, “Yu is gone, I want to give him his, favorite, balloon………”, I’d originally thought he was joking, and I’d, confirmed it with him repeatedly, to see if he was telling me the truth, he’d cried and started, “I’m not lying, grandma…….he really, went to, heaven to be an, angel……….”, suddenly, I’d felt my heart wrenching, while I’d felt bad for the young life that’s, lost, but how will my six-year-old young grandson, cope with his best friend’s, death? All I could do, is quietly, sat with him, to fill up the white, long, balloons, he said, “I didn’t get to write any words of blessing to Yu, I will have the teacher teach me to tomorrow then.”
illustration from UDN.com
As my eldest grandson left for home, my husband and I decided, to NEVER mention this again, hoping, that it’ll help him, slowly forget this, sad memory. These two best friends were deeply connected, back when they were in the two-year-classes together, because Yu with the eye conditions couldn’t quite express himself in whole sentences, the teacher assigned my outgoing, active eldest grandson to be his buddy, they were seated next to each other in class, and slowly, they’d turned into, the best of friends. When my eldest was at home, he’d told us about the progresses that Yu had made, for instance: he’s speaking now, in more complete sentences, he can count from one to ten now, the two built the castles out of blocks, drawn, and other leisure activities together. In the three years of time shared, any project my eldest grandson had made in my home, he’d told, “I shall give this to Yu tomorrow”. Yu was also, very popular in the class, this childish friendship, surely, was, precious, and yet, right after the New Year’s, it all came to, a dead, halt.
We’d originally thought, that not talking about death was the best way to help our eldest grandson, but as I saw on the assignment books, the teacher left a two-page note that moved me—the instructor specially selected an illustrated book about death, “The Dinosaur went to Heaven”, to teach the young children about death, and she’d described how on the day as the students went to the funeral, and placed the gifts for the child who was lost; as they went to see the child off, the instructor can no longer, hold back her tears, my eldest grandson was really gentle, consoled with her, and inquired, “Does cremation hurt?”, the teacher told, “Yu is no longer hurting, because he’d received all of your, blessings, he’d gone to heaven, to be, an angel now.” In the classroom, the class set a special corner to commemorate Yu, with his favorite story, “The Cars Built a House”.
here’s one…image from online
We’re really grateful toward how the instructor had handled this matter so delicately, to educate the young children on the first lessons of death, to help them find an alternative way to grieve that’s different from the adults’ ways. That day, Yu happily chimed to me on his life story, “long, long ago, I was, one of the happy angels in heaven too, I’d loved turning the clouds into cotton candy, and, eaten them slowly, they’re so very, sweet. One day, I saw a really, tall building, and I was, so happy I’d spread my wings, soared to the tenth floor window, as the moonlight lit up the skies, I’d, opened the window gently, had, secretly, hidden myself inside mommy’s tummy, that’s how I became………”
On the day life ended, it’s a new beginning for a brand new, journey, I pray, that Yu, in a beautiful heaven, can soar happy and free, like a bird, to find a home that he loved living in.
And so, this is, a lesson, learned, much too early for this young child, he’d lost his, best friend, and, being too young, he’d not known how to express his sadness, his sorrows, his loss, but the school teacher’s reading the illustrated books about the meanings of death to the class, it’d helped this young boy understand, that his best friend isn’t gone, he just, exists in another form to him, as memories.
another book that teaches children about death…from online
On the memories which were lost, through, time…translated…
He’d, Domesticated a ton of, Time, They’re All Still, Quite, Young
Leaving the Youth, to the Memories
A Warm Hug, along with the Fuller Forms of, Dreams
He’d Raised up the Days, Watched Them Leave Home
One by One, Vanishing on the
Backside of the Memories, Never Returned for a Visit Again
He’d Grown, Weak and Frail by the Years
the vanishing tracks of, time, like footprints in the, sand…
photo from online
Daily, He Repeatedly Echoes His Own Voice
A Daze of His Yesterdays, Dazing
Today, He’d Walked Speedily Underneath His Own Shadows
Becoming an Aging Leopard
That Can’t Stop Pacing Around Inside that Cage
He’d Heard the Chime of His Wall Clock Called Out Midnight
With the Messages from the Fog
Closer to the Essence of Life, the Vanishing
Dying Promise, Closer to the
like this…photo from online
Poetry that was, the Silence Between Every Heart, Beat
A Lot of Time Still Waited on Him to Feed Them
Using the Words, the Lines
He’d, Trekked Across Many of the, Broken, Memories
For the Sake of Catching
His Own Self, that Were, Countless
Hiding in the Bushes of, Time
Leaving Behind the Tracks Intentionally
To Help Him Find Back the Self that’s Been, Reduced to the Bones
To Find the Existence of His Own Self
Which Was Here, Before
So, this person searched hard, to find the traces of his own self that existed, a long, time ago, and he may not be able to find that, because his memories are, going, away by the day, as the memories will fade, piece by piece, until, there’s, nothing left of this life we’d had…
The memories of loss, at such, a young, age…how could a young child at this young an age, make sense, of the death of, a parent??? Translated…
Later, whenever someone asks, I would tell them, that my mother died when I was, eight years of, age.
It was noontime, on October 23rd, 2011, when my father was driving, with me, following the siren-sounding ambulance, from Linkou to, Chiayi. After we got out of the car, we’d burned the paper offer money, offered the incense, folded the gold nuggets. And, a ton of elders I didn’t recognize, came in and out of our, home. And my father was still as usual, told me to show my, courteous, side to all.
A day passed by like this. Four days, passed as so too.
On the evening of October 27th, a large birthday cake sat, on the living room coffee, table, with three candles, colored green, white, and pink, with the number, eight. Then, Happy Birthday sounded off. My father, my uncle, my aunt, my older cousin, my grandparents, clapped to the rhythm of that song.
her seventh, also, a symbol of, loss! Photo from online
After they’d sung, I’d, closed my eyes, with my hand together as in prayer, my ten fingers, bent.
After a little over thirty minutes, before my mother’s photo, there was, a huge, piece of cake. I stood in front the portrait of my mom, hands together in prayer, again.
“Today is my birthday, today, I’m, eight!” I’d spoken lightly, in my, mind.
Eight years, it’d, felt like, mom was with me, an extra, year.
So, at the young age of seven whole, you’d, lost your, mother, and it’s, such a young age, to suffer from such an, enormous sort of a loss, but, you and your families, tried to, make everything go as smoothly as possible, with your mother’s presence, her memories in you, on your, birthday, and, although, you’d lost your, mother, but, you will always have her with you on your, birthday…
We the missiles, projected, to FIRE into some country our nation’s at war with, and we don’t have the eyes, we got NO idea, if we’re going to, fly off course (by a smidge or a lot due to strong winds???), that we might, land in, a civilian’s, home!
this, is what those, missiles, do…fly out…photo from online
The missiles that don’t have, eyes, they, get fired into, the distances, and we only hear that loud B-O-O-M, as it, hit something (like, the PRESIDENTIAL office???), then, all hell breaks, loose. The missiles that don’t have eyes, because they’re not supposed to see, like those, soldiers sent off to war, they’re, ordered to obey orders to KILL.
and, this is “upon-impact”…photo from online
The missiles that don’t have, eyes, they cause massive amount of, damages, to the world, and, it’s still the HANDS that rocked THOSE “cradles” that are, responsible. But hey, as hell broke loose, do we, civilians, have the time, to TRACE to WHO fired that SHITTY missile, onto our town square???
The missiles that don’t have, eyes, because they are not supposed to see, they’re, weapons of MASS destruction, AIMED at one thing, causing DEATH, and CHAOS in the world…
and the, “aftermath” of that would be??? Death of human, being, innocent ones too! Photo from online
Losing someone we love, is never easy, especially when it’s due to illness, and the person you loved dearly, had been really watchful of her/his own health, exercised regularly, eaten healthy, taking good care of her/his body, and then, CANCER still, HIT! But you will, grieve and heal, and grieve, and heal a little, each and every day, until one day, when you think about that person you love so dearly, you don’t feel sad anymore…translated…
I’m afraid, that I might, forget about this one day, that’s why, I’d started, jotting down this, memory.
“When will I get to, leave here?”, “Leave? You mean away from the hospital and go home? Sure, certainly, we’d already discussed it with the doctor, these few days, we’ll be, filing for your discharge papers from the hospital, so you can go home to, rest~~~”
“To heaven!”
That was, the final conversation my husband had with, us. I knew, if it wasn’t that he’d felt, gravely, ill, he who loves us too much, who cherished being alive, will NEVER, have this thought. That very day, my husband, was, gone.
At the terminal stage of his cancer, I can only imagine, how much pain he must’ve been, in. In our, hearts too.
Although my husband is very optimistic, and not fought fate at all. But I’d felt that he was taken from us, way too soon, I’d still asked heavens, to this very day, “what sort of a joke are you, playing on, us all?”
My husband didn’t drink, didn’t smoke, loved exercising, was optimistic, with a great senses of humor, gone to his health checks like clockwork, but he’d, battled it out with his cancer for close to two whole years, then, he’d, died, had he lived for another whole year, he would’ve, made it to his, sixtieth.
Like usual, we’d gone to the E.R., because he wasn’t, feeling, well, we’d hoped, that this time was like all the previous, two, three days’ stay then he would be allowed to, come back home, but this time, he’d, stayed for a whole thirty-six days! And we’d started, struggling between taking him home to care for him, or keeping him in the hospital to continue his, treatments. Everybody stated that it’d strained the primary caretaker, but we’d come to know, that the one who’d gotten tried the most, was the, patient himself.
My husband is a good father, amazing husband, and took good care of his body regularly. So, we had nothing to complain about caring for him. I sat by the hospital bed, and thought, so long as he’s still with us, even if I have to care for him in the hospital for long period of time, I’d be more than willing, to.
Recalled on the funeral, the announcer stated, “your children are all grown now, this is the time of your better years, and yet, you’d, left………”, and every time I’d recalled this particular passage, my heart would, ache all over, again.
the cycle of grief by Kubler-Ross…found online
My husband retired at age fifty-five, he was already tried by his own blindness. He’d coexisted with glaucoma for more than twenty years already, although he had two surgeries, his optical nerves never recovered, and finally, it’d, affected his field of vision. His field of vision started narrowing little by little, in the end, he was diagnosed as severely visually impaired. I’d already vowed, to take his hand in mind, when he’d needed me, the most, and yet, we were, struck by the lightning of his, cancer diagnosis, and it was, the KING: pancreatic cancer too. Why are these, two most severe of all conditions, both happened to my, husband?
I can’t see through life and death.
And, the understandings of life and death from a religious angle, don’t help me one bit.
I thought I’d, let go already, and yet, the moment that came next, I’d felt my heart, aching, all over, again, and I can’t control these tears of mine, and I got stuck in this, cycle of, grief.
So many T.V. shows told, after people are gone, they’d become a star high up in the skies. And so, I’d started, lifting my head to the night skies, through searching for my husband’s star, to express how much I’d missed him, and hoped, that we can, meet back up again in my, dreams.
So, this is on losing one’s spouse, and it is, too hard, losing someone you’d spent these years of your adult life with, and, you’re still, grieving for his death, which is only, normal, and one day, with the passage of time, hopefully, you will be able to think about him, and, feel no sadness or sorrows, but joys, because of all those years you’d come to share as husband and wife together.
How we all wish, that we can, go when it’s, time…translated…
Toward Love & Poetry
It’s the Exact Same, with the Rights to, Evade\
I Can Hide in the 360-Degree Surrounding Scene
Can Not Let You Understand
Or I Can be Like a Gentle Breeze Grazing Your Cheeks
Or, Can Dock in Your Gentle Bay
Fly or Adrift as I Wished
Kept Predicting the Ending of Our Stories
as the Grim Ripper comes for us…photo from online
Learning to Coexist with the Sorrowful as well as the Joyous
Turning Toward Every Sunset, Bidding Farewell
Grateful Toward Every Sunrise, for a Brand New, Creation
Nobody Can Give You the Happiness
When the Doors Slammed Shut, Windows will, Open Up
I Only Trust Myself
Trusting that the Distant I’d Chosen
With or Without Hearing the Fireworks Dissipating
Not Knowing When I’m to Arrive
But I’d, Already, Painted Out How I will, Step Off that, Train
This is, on dying with grace, with one’s dignity, intact, and, we may not all be granted that, it’s all, up to fate, because, no matter how we’d, planned these things, things still may or may not, go as how we wished…
A “chance” encounter that’s offered hope to you and your mother, helped eased her mind, and as you came across it again, it’d, offered you that peace of mind as well…translated…
Upon reading the writer, Lee’s “Lighting Up” on January 26th, it’d reminded me of many winters ago, when I was staying with my mother at the hospital.
It was Christmas Eve, but there’s NO peace in the ward, the words of the families’ saying their final words of thanks, of appreciation to their elders came from the adjacent bed, the words were too sorrowful, every word, heartbroken. My mother’s moods swung, she’d complained of lower back pains, her chest felt stuffed up, couldn’t get enough air in, I’d started, going between the nurse’s station and her room repeatedly, I’d become, tired. Later, my mother blurted out, “it’s too loud in the neighboring bed! I’m so scared! Can’t you take me out of here?”, and, I had to do something, and so, I’d, put her in a wheelchair, and started, aimlessly, pushing her down those, long hallways. As we’d walked around, leaving the lit up ward area, we got to the central dark hallways, I’d contemplated, where can I, take my, mother? This was, exactly like our, predicament right now, other than the deteriorating away of her systems, there’s, no sense of the future.
like this…chasing away the darkness in a room…photo from online
As we got to the end of the hallways, I’d turned, and, my mother exclaimed, I also, stopped, a huge white, Christmas tree stood before us. With the colorful trinkets, the shiny decorative items on it, glistening in the, darkness, with the boxed up presents on the floor, there was, also a small house, surrounded by the, Christmas lights, with the angel figures all around the small house. This looked like a fairytale, it’d become this, gentle light, that found its way into my, despair. My mother said, “I thought there’s no more path here, and, there’s this, beautiful Christmas tree, so, no matter what happens, don’t despair. Oh……and if one day I become an angel, I shall, watch, over you.” My mother’s words, made the lights come on before my sight, and, from the distance, we’d heard the caroling of “Silent Night”, I’d wiped away my tears, told my mother, “Come, let’s go and hear the carolers.”
On the way back to the ward, we’d bumped into the young group of carolers, they’d handed a small bag of candy to my mother, wished her get well soon. And, the originally noisy, bed adjacent was already, cleared now, with my mildly demented mother, forgetting what she was, fearful about, she’d, smiled on, and took that bag of present into the hospital ward, and soon as I got her into bed, she’d fallen, fast, asleep. While that Christmas tree that stood so bright, with the shiny lights at the end of that hallway, stayed in my mind, it’d made me realized, that there’s always a way.
Last Christmas Eve, my mother had already been an angel for five years, and I, after the thrills of my own surgery, saw that same healing Christmas tree, right where it’d, been, it’d, reignited the hopes in me. At that very moment of time, I felt nothing but, gratitude. I’m certain, that my mother had been, watching over me all this time, and the thought of “never give up”, made my life okay.
So, this is the hope that you’re desperately in need of, with your mother’s growing older, and suffering from the symptoms of, dementia, and stumbling upon that Christmas tree at the hospital, it’d offered hope to you, and it’d made your mother felt at ease, and she’s no longer scared, and, this time, as you’re back in the hospital, that Christmas tree placed right where it once was, still offered you the light.
On loss, grieving, losing a loved ones, and how we can only, put one foot in front of the other, and keep moving, until one day, the losses and the sorrows, the grief from what we’d lost, is no longer, that strong anymore, and we can, finally, get through the days, slowly…translated…
Although, It’d Been Said, that We Can’t Compare Mourning, but I’m Still in AWE at the Female Owner’s Persistence, while What Touched Me Deeply, was Her Saying that “Life Goes on, if We Live Our Lives Well, then, the Ones We’d Lost Who are Now in Heaven, Will Feel More at Ease, They Won’t Need to Worry Over Us…”……
It was the year, I’d, lost my old dog and my elderly mom, I’d suddenly, lost the focal point in my life. Nighttime was the time of day I’d, feared, the, most, as the memories of both my elderly mother and my old dog are in the house, to reduce the time that this creeps up on me, I’d, selected to head out to the local middle school tracks to walk.
In the cold of night, I’d, circled around the track, lap after lap after, lap, nobody will note, that I’m, crying as I’m, walking, along. When it rained, I couldn’t tell if what’s dripping down from my face was the rain or my own, tears, and I’d, become, a zombie like this for, two whole weeks, just, walking around.
That day, I’d just, left the middle school, passing a roadside stand that sold the red bean pastries. “Hello, would you like to purchase a pastry? The fillings are oozing out!”, the mildly hoarse voice was, a bit, familiar to me, I’d focused in, it was, the stand owner with whom I’d usually purchased the foods from, don’t know when she’d moved her business here.
illustration from UDN.com
“I hadn’t seen you in quite a long time, from before, you were always out with your mother and your dog, and, every time your dog got to my stand, it’d, refused to, go farther, and had you purchased three pastries, then, it would, move itself, along………”
I’d smiled and nodded, and, tears came, flowing out.
“oh…I know it, and I’m, so sorry! That’s how life goes, my son………he’d only gotten into a public university just last year, as he’d begun his university career, and only within six months of his entering into university, he’d died in a car crash……and it was, too difficult, for a single mother as I, to accept this. My son died, can you imagine my loneliness? As I’d heard the geckos making their noises on the walls of my home, I’d felt, that I wasn’t, alone anymore, I had a gecko as my, company, although, I’d never actually, seen the gecko. But, the days will go on, if we’re well here, living on earth, then, the loved ones we lost in heaven, they will, feel, at ease too, and they will, be better off.”
illustration from UDN.com
The woman skillfully, flipped the pastry on the iron baking plate, slowly told, like she was, telling me, a tale of old.
Like I usually had, I’d, bought three pieces. On my way back home, I’d, thought, that no matter what form of losing our parents it happened, it’s, an enormous feel of pain. My two parents both died in their elderly age, which fitted to the laws of, nature, and, although I’m in grief, I’d felt, assured. The woman from the food stand, lost her son, this would be, excruciating to her, and there’s that forced necessity to accept the loss as a fact, with the feelings of unwillingness, of how it could’ve happened, and maybe, hate too.
Although, we can’t, compare the losses we’d endured individually, but I’m still, in awe at the stand owner’s stamina, while, what touched my heart were the words of, “life will go on, if we’re well, then, the ones we’d lost who are now in heaven, will feel at ease, and they would be, well too.”
In the coldness of the night, I took a bite out of the hot red bean pastry, certainly, the fillings, oozed out! Suddenly, I’d recalled how my mom told me to volunteer at the hospital, I’d decided right then and there, that I shall, make the inquiries in the morn. Lifting my head to the sky full of stars, it will be, sunny tomorrow for sure.
And so, there’s, no specific time it takes, for a person to grief for the losses of the loved ones, and, the writer lost her mother, and the woman who owned the food stand lost her, son, the people they lost may be different, but, the feelings of losing someone we love, and the heart wrenching pains, the heartaches that comes with the losses, are always, unbearable, but we will, move on, eventually, we just, need to, allow ourselves enough time, to grieve fully and properly over the ones we’d, lost.
He’d died in a car accident, many, a year ago, but I still can’t help, but think (feel free to call me, DELUSIONAL!) that he is somewhere, out there (don’t ask where), living his life (not on a parallel plane!), as someone else…
Ponders of the father, deceased, I keep him, alive in my mind, because, I can’t withstand the fact of me, without my father to guide my way through life, and so, I’d, “made him up”, and saved him, inside, that tiny little, box inside my mind, where he would be safe, from harm…
Ponders of the father, deceased, where did you go, huh, dad? Why didn’t you come back, why did you have to leave the house to get something that stormy night, that you got, run over by that pickup truck, huh?
like how JFK saluted his own father on his father’s funeral…photo from online
Ponders of the father, deceased, well those NAILS had NAILED his coffin shut, you were, at his, funeral, as his, only and eldest son, leading at the head of the, mourners, remember? Little would I know, that I would become, EXACTLY like that father of my own, leaving my own young one day, before they’re, old enough, to “exist” without, their dad, just as you’d, left me, way too young……….
Mirroring the World 
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