Dear friends,
Five years ago today, my 婆婆 died. It was the height of covid. The funeral was over Zoom. I wrote a eulogy that I didn’t get to deliver in person. I’d like to share it here.
Before I do, a few thoughts that my brother (hi david) got me mulling over. Why do we wait until the end of someone’s life to tell them how they’ve impacted us? When they don’t get to hear it? So many people shape our lives—isn’t it time we let them know? (And you guys thought reb was existential lols, my bro tried this experiment with his friends over his birthday ;-) i want to learn from this kid.)
Now to the eulogy.
Dear 婆婆,
You were a true Asian matriarch. You showed your love best by either yelling at us (I grew up thinking "我打死你!" was a term of endearment) or cooking us a 10-course feast that could rival any restaurant in Hong Kong.
You were a strong woman. Literally, you would daily climb the 5-story walk-up to your rent-controlled apartment on 24th Street and 3rd Avenue carrying loads of groceries from Chinatown, despite your intensifying arthritis. You moved from the familiarity of Hong Kong fifty years ago to take a chance at this whole America thing. You lost 公公 soon after. You worked hard with your hands, you were shrewd with your money. You raised three daughters and ten grandkids, and enjoyed five great-grandkids. You never complained.
You were a stubborn woman, with your own faults and struggles. You were not often kind with your words. Dementia amplified your anger. But you listened when your daughters and son-in-laws spoke of Jesus. You never took handouts, but you received this grace with your whole being.
We had a language barrier. You refused to learn English, and I was a product of the American way. (If you could do it over again, would you learn English for us? I know I would hold on to our mother tongue as much as I could.) But we made it work. You fed us 蘿蔔糕, and we tried to make you laugh. I will forever be pleased with making you chuckle for an entire evening with my 好孙好孙 joke.
As kids, we grew fond of that herb-y menthol scent of the TCM ointment you'd apply before you slept, right when you woke up, and in between your episodes of Iron Chef. Sometimes I'd find you at the kitchen table wearing that teal South Street Seaport apron, looking out the window, eyes glazed as you munched on leftover 京都骨. I'd wonder where you were, what part of your story you were visiting, the details of which you kept only for yourself that perhaps just weren't meant to be passed down and retold to the next generation.
One of my favorite memories is when we went on that family cruise to celebrate your 80th birthday. Somehow it was decided that I would be your roommate for the 5 nights/6 days, and I'd like to think we had the best time. We both liked brushing our teeth (yours just happened to sit in a glass jar overnight). We slept early, rose early, hit the buffet first thing, and took selfies together. Oh and mahjong. You taught us mahjong and dang, 婆婆, you're a hustler.
One of the longest conversations we had was in 2013, on our Steinway bench in Staten Island. It was December and we were both wearing fleece. You asked me why I lived in Singapore. My guilt immediately interpreted that you were implying that I was ungrateful for your sacrifice of immigrating to the States. Using part-Canto, part-Mando, part-English, and part-defensiveness, I limped through an explanation. You blinked at me, unimpressed. I asked if I could grab my laptop to show you photos. I showed you the Singapore skyline, the hawker centers, the food. I showed you photos of my colleagues and students and church friends. I concluded in my simple, grammatically incorrect Canto: Jesus asked me to go to Singapore, so that's why I live there. Apparently this was satisfactory, because you smiled at me and replied, ok I guess you need to come visit home more often then.
Because of COVID-19, we didn't get to say goodbye to you. But because of Jesus, we'll get to see you later. We love you, 婆婆. Thank you for everything. Enjoy the rest and peace and presence of our Savior.
love,
萍萍
be well this holy week, friends.
death no longer has the final say!
love,
reb