Tag Archives: In Memoriam

Her Life in Picture

On her funeral, her families and friends put together a slide show of her life in pictures, kinda like the ones played at those weddings???

It’d started out with her as an infant, her first step, her first word, so many firsts, to be recalled.  Her life had been a run-on, like the sentence?  She just, kept going, going, going, ‘til she’s finally gone, and, the story of her life, it’d played on, like a projector that’s broken, it just, looped around, endlessly, guess that, would be how her life was, huh?

Her life in pictures, there were ups, and downs, and, a whole lotta in-betweens, and, none of that mattered now, she’s gone, and, she’d managed to change so many lives, and, brightened up people’s lives with her mere presence, and, although she was real young when she’d passed away, nobody can disagree, that in her short life, she’d made the most of her time here.

Her life in pictures, but how?  How can someone’s life, be reduced to a few pictures?  After all, a person is changing, growing, every single day, and, there’s NO way possible, that anybody can manage to capture every single breath the someone takes………

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Filed under Cost of Living, Despair, Loss, On Death & Dying, Properties of Life, Story-Telling

Seeing Shadows of My Father at a Famous Person’s Old Home

Love for one’s father, translated…

When my father was younger and was attending medical school, he’d once lived in the northeast for almost a decade, back then, the former director of the legislative office, Yun-Shuen Sun was going to Harbin for college, and because of this, my father said, that, they’re, of the same origins, seeing anything report on Director Sun, he’d proudly exclaimed, that being born in the Northeast is what sets you apart.  And he’d often exclaimed how he’d gone from a student, to running the legislative branch of the country, that he’s very righteous and very able-bodied too, so, when I was younger, I’d gotten to known Director Sun very well.

I’d learned, that the late home of Director Sun was opened, I’d found a weekend, and gone, to see it myself.  The moment I walked in, I saw Director Sun’s photograph, with him, sitting up straight at the patch of grass in the yard, it’d attracted my attention for quite a long time, that, was an all-too-familiar look, too personable, it’s, as if, he were actually, really there.

There was the notes of Director Sun, detailing everything, with Russian side notes.  Back then, as I just got into the university, my father took out his cherished notes from years ago, taught me how to take down the key points of the lectures.  The same notes were, written very well, with the German annotations, he and Director Sun’s hard working mannerisms in school is comparable all right.  The huge briefcase that Director Sun used, it’d reminded me of the black medical supply case that my father carried with him everywhere he went, with the entire set of medical equipments, and whenever someone needed a house call, he’d gone out with it.  My father treated all his patients as if they were his family members, during his mealtime, his afternoon resting hours, even in the middle of the nights, if someone needed his services, he’d gone to answer their calls, worked hard at his post, until he fell ill.

There was a photograph of the director’s mother’s portrait in his suite, he fulfilled his filial piety toward her, after his mother passed, he’d still gone to say good morning and good evening to the photograph of his own mother, this made me remember how much care went into my father, taking care of my own grandmother.  My grandmother had a total of three strokes, and my father took care of her on his own, without the assistance from anybody else.  As my grandmother passed, I still couldn’t forget how my father looked so sorrowful, as he held on to her body.  The two of them were both, fitting sons.

As I’d walked out of the last place that former Director Sun lived, I’d stared at the photograph hung outside, with him, smiling, with a persistence, and, in a blur, I started seeing my own father, smiling, in the icy winds, the fragments of memories I had of my father came one by one.

And so, visiting this place had triggered this person’s memories of her own father, because, there were so many similarities between the director and the narrator’s father, and, that, is how going some place that you least expect, can rouse up the memories of someone for you.

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Filed under Connections, Life, Observations, Parent-Child Interactions, Values

My Maternal Grandfather

Translated…

On a winter’s afternoon, my maternal grandfather was gone, as he took a nap on the lounge chair.

Before he’d died, my maternal grandfather would read the dates of various things for others, and now that he’s gone, we’d asked his student, to pick out a good day to bury him.  And, grandpa probably knew too, that the time is approaching, that, was why he’d stated, on his ninetieth birthday to us, “My deeds are done”, and he’d also started telling us of his final affairs, “the one who watched over the nights can close the front door and sleep in the living room.”

After the funeral, I didn’t want to stay in that dark, cold house at all, and so, I’d gone to the backyard to get some sun, then, I saw, the potted plants that my maternal grandfather had taken care of, some lined up by the fences, some hung perpendicular to the roof by the wall, some placed, flat on the ground.  There must’ve been over a hundred of these potted plants of all shapes and sizes.  Where there are no potted plants, there was several cardboard boxes and plastic bottles, for the sake of recycle, and these, were collected by my maternal grandfather, for the uncle who’d picked up the recycled materials and sold them for money.

I’d stood, between the potted plants, as I admired the roses, along with a ton of other plants I couldn’t name, I just couldn’t bear to leave the backyard, because the sun of the wintertime became extremely warming, like how my maternal grandfather had treated others with kindness, and the love he had, for his family.

And so, you’d come back, to this small corner in the backyard, to remember, to miss, to recall your maternal grandfather, and, although he had died, the legacy he left behind is still being carried on, whether or not you’re aware of it, and that just shows, how the effects of a person’s life transcends beyond life and death.

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Filed under A Cycle of Kindness, Family Matters, Loss, Observations, On Death & Dying, Values

The Death of My Mother in 1993

On loss, translated…

This Lonely World Became

The Only Heritage She’d Left Behind for Me

Maybe because you were too enmeshed with your mother, that, was why her death is hitting you this hard?  Or maybe, you’re just going through the normal process of grief, either way, you will feel better, after that much-needed good cry, so, mourn, for the loss…

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Filed under Healing Process, Life, Loss, On Death & Dying

The Birthday Party in Heaven

The love of the family, translated…

Today is the birthday of my father who’s now, up in the heavens, we’d heard, that the first day of arrival into heaven would be the person’s birthday in heaven.  And on this day, down here on earth, we call it the day of his untimely demise.

In order to commemorate our dearly beloved father’s fifth birthday, my mother made abalone salad, stewed pork’s feet, fried chicken legs, etc., etc., etc., all of these, my father’s favorite dishes.  And, my aunt who enjoyed a good smoke had told us to get three packs of Davidoff, so my father can have a cigarette after his meal and be as ecstatic as an angel.  And still, I was extremely certain, that these three packs of cigarettes are going to end up into my aunt’s possession after we’d offered it to my father.

The owner of the convenience store had amazing memory, when my mother and I gone to buy three packs of cigarettes from her, she’d understood, and not taken any money from us for it, said it was a gift for my father.

Then, my mother took me to opposite of where we live, to buy some gold papers, she said, that the daughter who’s married out must prepare extra.  The shop owner suggested me not buy the gold papers, but by the gold sticks made with papers.

When every single food item, the cigarettes, the alcohol, and the offerings are set up, everybody offered her/his respects, then we’d have three rounds of drinking, then, it was, the end of the birthday party—burning of the offering papers.  My youngest uncle took the lead, my husband came to help out too, my eldest sister came over, what’s more importantly, my mother too, must be there as well.  And, the one who’d bought the gold bricks made with paper, the youngest daughter, me, I was responsible for throwing it into the offering can.

Then, the shop owner from the store came to give us some technical tips.  She said, that the golden bricks are made from the Chinese gold nuggets, and that we must separate them back into the gold nuggets’ shapes, then, toss them all into the urn to burn, that way, the amount of gold would increase.  To tell the truth, none of us knew of this “secret”!

My youngest uncle stated all of a sudden, “Hoo!  One, two, three!”, he’d copied the way that my dad counted, he’d also said, that so many pieces of gold nuggets, his eldest brother would have a hard time, keeping track.  I couldn’t help but start chuckling, my father’s expressions, his tone of voice, his way of speaking, all of a sudden, came back before my eyes.

“Dad, I miss everything about you, on the day you were born into the heavens, the fifth year, I hope, you’re truly living your afterlife happily!”

And so, instead of facing their losses of a father, of a husband, of a brother, a friend with sorrows and sadness, this family chooses to celebrate the man’s death, a good way to remember someone’s life.

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Filed under Expectations, Family Matters, Letting Go, Life, Moods, Emotions, & Feelings, On Death & Dying, Perspectives, Philosophies of Life, Properties of Life, Translated Work, Values

No Photographs During Your Final Days

There would be NO photographs, during your final days, because that, is NOT the way I wanted to remember you, my love.  You’d grown so frail, with nothing MORE than JUST skin and bones, and it pains me to see you like this.

So, NO photographs during your final days, because I want to give you the amounts of dignity that you RIGHTFULLY deserved, after all, I loved you very much, and now, I’m just letting you go, because keeping you bound, by this ailing body, is absolutely POINTLESS.

No photographs during your final days, I have NO need for those, after all, I’d already saved UP on memories of you, and I need NO reminder, of how frail you are near the end.  No photographs during your final days, and that, is that, you ARE mine, and I get a say, in how I choose to remember you, and there’s NO debating that here!!!

No photographs during your final days, as you wasted away, little by little, day by day, and I do NOT want to remember you as being sick, I want to recall you (whenever I will!!!) as being healthy, upbeat, and waking me up too early.

 

 

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Filed under Old Age, On Death & Dying