Category Archives: Hope

A letter of well wishes for my sweet Kaia Pookie on her first day of kindergarten

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I originally wanted to write a little letter, as in a real paper letter, to Kaia and read it to her on her first day of kindergarten. But then I wasn’t sure she’d want me to read it to her.. And that she may end up writing and doodling all over it since she cannot yet read herself. So, this year, I will keep it on this blog. I will save writing a real letter on paper for her when she is able to read… which is unbelievably just around the corner.

To my dearest Kaia Pookie,

It is with a bittersweet, squishy heart that I write this message to you, wishing you the very best on your first day of kindergarten, or your first day of formal schooling. 祝你幼儿园第一天超级棒！开开心心上学去! It is trite because it is so true: the days are long, but the weeks and years are so short. I can say with complete honesty in my heart and mind that taking care of you, protecting you, and loving you have been the ultimate joy and job of my life. I don’t think you are aware of how often I look back at old photos and videos of you on my phone, whether it’s a year, two, three, or four years ago when you were just a wee baby, and think about how precious all these sweet moments have been for me. The days were often exhausting, especially in your newborn days, but I could not get enough of sniffing your ethereal, sweet newborn scent. I regret none of my time and efforts in nourishing and taking care of you in the best way possible. I still look back fondly all the time at every moment with you, but especially your solid start days; those were some of my true favorite moments in raising my sweet Kaia Pookie. You were an amazing eater then, and you still are an incredible eater now! Please don’t stop!

It feels like it all flew by so quickly: triple feeding, pumping milk, endless diapering, prune juice (#ifkyk), blow outs, baby-led weaning, your first (and then endless!) words, your first steps, tantrums, potty training, and increasing understanding and awareness of everything around you. Where did all the time go? Sometimes, I get very wistful and sad. But that’s why sometimes I make your Daddy mad and am soft with you; sometimes I just want to sit in the moment with you and snuggle and cuddle and see you carefree and silly. You are my only baby, my one sweet baby, and I want to relish the moment with you. I’ve loved every stage of your development and hope you will continue to be sweet, kind, thoughtful, curious, affectionate, cuddly, and think of others. Kindergarten is a big step, Pookster, but there is a long, windy path ahead of you, filled with lots of learning. Remember: you always have to try, try, and try. Sometimes you will try and fail, but that doesn’t mean you just give up. You have to keep going and try again. I always say this to you: 加油! You have to keep going and keep trying! And when you succeed, we can celebrate the wins. Some things will come easily to you, while other things will be more of a challenge. If it doesn’t challenge you, it will not change you. And change is a good thing. Remember that the next time something is really hard. Don’t be afraid of failing, though; you can learn from every mistake, not just in school, but in life.

If there is one tiny piece of advice I will give for learning, it is to always be curious, to ask lots of questions when you don’t understand or may not agree. The more questions you ask, the more answers may come. Don’t be silent and keep lingering questions to yourself. You want to expand your horizon and your knowledge! This is what school and learning are all about!

I hope you make new good friends at your new school. The definition of “friends” will change and evolve over time and as you get older, but always remember to be kind and share with your 小朋友. You will not get along with everyone, and not everyone will like you, and that’s okay. You don’t have to be friends with everyone, but you should always be kind, always be true to who you are.

I hope you know how much Mama and Daddy love you, how your health, safety, and happiness are our utmost priorities. We hope that you will be open with us about what is going well and what is not. You should never feel afraid to share with us; you can always tell Mama and Daddy everything and anything. We hope you will always see us as your safe space. We are always here for you no matter what.

We love you so, so much, my sweet Kaia Pookie baby. Even though you are in kindergarten now and are soon turning five, you know you will always be my sweet baby, right? You are my one and only, and for you I want to do my very, very best and be here for as long as humanly possible to watch you grow and thrive. Wishing you the very best on your first day of kindergarten. Muah.

As one of your favorite Chinese songs, “宝贝宝贝,” (BaoBei BaoBei) says: 你是我们的心肝宝贝 / 爸爸妈妈的爱永相随 (You are the apple of our eye; Daddy and Mommy’s love will always be with you). <3

With all my love, your mama,

Yvonne

13 years fundraising and writing blurbs to encourage donations

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It’s hard to believe that it’s been 13 years since Ed passed, and now 13 years of fundraising for the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention (AFSP). When I first sought out some nonprofit fundraising effort to preserve Ed’s memory and keep his spirit alive, I wasn’t sure how long I would do this for or even if I’d stick with AFSP. For a couple years, I thought I might switch organizations to change things up for myself, plus to expose myself to different nonprofit environments. But in the end, I stuck with AFSP because it was comfortable, familiar, and I got used to the setup, events, and the people. I’ve been involved in various AFSP events, including going on local TV to represent them and discuss why I walk. I’ve also been an AFSP NYC walk committee member for the last year and am continuing this effort this year.

Every year when I write my fundraising message, I try to change the message up so that it’s a little different and current to my life at the moment and what’s top of mind for me. The first couple years were about the shock of losing him. Then it evolved into missing him at milestone moments of my life, whether that was my wedding, my pregnancy and the birth of Kaia, and this year, my 40th birthday. And now, it’s really become about… every year I’ve lived past age 33… all the years he never got to live. So what am I really doing with my life to make it more meaningful and to make it “worth” living, both for his memory and for myself?

Sometimes I wonder if anyone really reads my updated blurbs, specifically the people who are in my repeat donor group. I am grateful for their repeat donations, but I always wonder if they really read anything I write. Then last year, one person actually texted to let me know that he loved “the evolution of my message” each year, and how my reflections about my brother and his passing have changed over time. That was something I really appreciated.

So, here we go again. This year, I couldn’t put my thoughts together as early as I usually do, as I typically target July, the month of his passing. I didn’t figure out what I wanted to write until around his birthday in late August. So here I am, scrambling to organize my message and fundraiser just a month and a half out from the walk on October 25! Wish me luck in meeting my goal.

Some people can still surprise you when you least expect it

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Years ago, I asked a friend what my least attractive quality was. I could name at least a dozen qualities I have that would deter people from liking me right away pretty quickly (to be honest, today, I don’t give a shit, but at least I have self awareness unlike many). But she said something I did not expect to hear: “You are really predictable,” she said to me at the time. That was in 2008. We’re 18 years past that now, so I’d like to think that may have changed… maybe.

If “predictability” is a real quality of mine, I’d like to say that I got it from my mom. If you know her as well as I do, almost every single thing she says and does is entirely predictable: her likes, dislikes, criticisms, reactions, lack of reactions, purchases, objections, what she wants to do, see, or eat. You name it, and I can predict it. But during this last trip, she actually said something to me out of the blue that I did not expect at all.

“Yvonne! Can you come here?” my mom called across the house when she was in the bathroom. “I want to ask you something.”

I wasn’t sure this was going to be good. Obediently, I walked into the bathroom where she was. Out of nowhere, she had my clear toiletry case laid out on the bathroom counter.

“What do you put on your skin now?” my mom asked, with a very curious look on her face.”I was looking at your skin while we were at the restaurant the other day, and I couldn’t believe how nice it looks! It’s so bright and clear and young! What are you doing?”

I sheepishly smiled. I wasn’t expecting that she was going to say anything positive to me about my skin or appearance. I am so used to my mom pointing out all my sun spots or pimples over the years that I have just ignored her most of the time when she points out my flaws… even when they are blatantly staring back at me in the mirror.

So I walked her through my skincare routine, both morning and night time. I told her what I use and in what order. I told her I always, always put sunscreen on my face and neck in the morning even if I don’t leave the house. I even reapply it midday now, based on what my dermatologist suggested. I told her about my prescription skincare and the “cheap” skincare I get in bulk at Costco. I even admitted to her that I always wear a hat outside now… which she had always advised me to do since my teen years… which I just ignorantly declined to do… until the ripe age of 35 when my sun spots really started to piss me off. So yes, sometimes my mom is right about some things…

My mom looked like she was a in tizzy after I walked her through everything. “How do you have time to use so many products? This is a lot!” my mom said in shock. “No wonder your skin looks this good!”

I insisted to my mom that it only took an extra few minutes each morning and night. Now, it’s so routine that it’s really nothing for me. She then proceeded to test out every skincare product in my toiletry bag. She told me she wanted me to buy her a specific one I’d transferred to a travel-sized container… which happened to be one of the cheapest items in my routine, which is the Cerave Moisturizing Cream with ceramides I get in massive bulk from Costco and just started using in the spring. I told her it’s just from Costco and that I’d send my dad the link so he can buy it for her the next time he goes. That cream is quite a bargain and a little gem find at Costco!

I am shocked that at age 40, I’ve already gotten complimented about my skin by both a friend who does Botox and my own mom! It’s interesting what wisdom comes with age! Maybe being “middle aged” isn’t so bad after all.

Chicago as a visitor many times over and the Obama Presidential Center

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Given Chris and I have already traveled to Chicago a lot before, we didn’t have much of a tourist list of things to see and do when we got here. While I created a map of interesting restaurants and bakeries, there wasn’t any single place I felt we absolutely had to go to. The main thing I wanted to see this time around, which was obviously not around in any previous visit, was the Obama Presidential Center, which is located on the South Side of Chicago and just opened in June of this year. Unfortunately when we booked this trip in June, official tickets to enter the center were already sold out… through October. But upon doing research, we discovered that this wasn’t the worst outcome because so much of the center, both indoors and outdoors, was open to the public and did not require any ticket. We were still able to enter the library portion, which is part of the Chicago Public Library system, and see lots of personal belongings of Barack and Michelle Obama. We got to see photographs, murals, and paintings of their lives and the values they believe in. I loved the grounds, the walking paths, and the vegetable garden (of course, Kaia was also a huge fan). My favorite thing I got to see was likely the ridiculously long mural in the library with far too many colors and ideas to see in a single viewing. Even without access to the main museum, we could easily have spent a longer time there exploring the beautiful grounds.

Another favorite, quiet part for me was the Ann Dunham Water Terrace, dedicated to Barack Obama’s mother, who was an anthropologist by training and a huge influence on his life. In his words, “My mother, Ann Dunham, was the biggest influence on my life. She had a core belief in our common humanity, and she made sure I recognized the inherent dignity in every person.” This was noted as a “touchstone vital not only for a political career but for a life of service,” hence why the structure is made of two massive round stones, with water that flows from one to the other. She died quite young, at the age of 52, from uterine cancer. This heavily influenced Obama’s desire and push for healthcare reform, as she spent her last days worrying about expensive medical bills. While his mom had employer-sponsored health insurance that covered most of the costs of her medical treatment, she still had a large deductible and uncovered expenses, which were denied by her insurance for coverage because the insurance company considered her cancer a “preexisting condition.”

I’m really happy that despite not having tickets to see the entirety of the center that we were still able to come visit and experience the vast areas open to the public. I was thrilled that Kaia’s first presidential library experience was at Barack Obama’s, and that we got to do the super touristy thing of “posing” with Barack and Michelle altogether (okay, fine, their statues!). While I am pretty pessimistic at the direction the U.S. is going, especially with the current Dipshit administration for the disgusting second time around, somehow being here for the few hours we visited imbued me with a little more hope, a little more faith for the future. I need to have a little more hope and faith… at the minimum for Kaia’s sake.

Last day with family in San Francisco for this year

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My family tends to go through the same behavioral patterns in the last day or two when I am home. My mom goes through an anxious, angry period where she is either aggressive or passive aggressive with me, getting mad at me for innocuous things or accusing me of having feelings or intentions that she makes up. If I am not home during a given period, she will call repeatedly and ask when I am coming home; this is her way of actually saying, you need to come home now. On Monday, we planned to have dinner at my aunt’s upstairs, and my uncle would also be joining us. She asked us to come at 5 since my uncle needs to leave early since he cannot drive in the dark. So at around 3 while in Mission Bay with Chris and Kaia, I called home to let my dad know that we’d be back before 4. I could hear my mom in the background saying I was late and that I needed to come home right away. I could hear her angst, but I shrugged it off.

We went to pick up ice cream (black sesame and mango!) from Joe’s Ice Cream, a neighborhood ice cream shop that’s been around since I was a kid. Then we walked home from there. When we arrived back and I came into the kitchen, that was when I could feel my mom glaring at me with her eyes burning. “It’s almost 4 o’clock now. You are late,” she hissed at me. “You should have been home a long time ago! They are already upstairs waiting for us and eating.” Um. It wasn’t even 4pm. Who the hell was going to be eating dinner at this time? I said nothing and did as I promised, which was to help make a steamed eggplant dish to bring to the dinner along with my purchased dessert. She proceeded to get mad that we went out at all today and didn’t tell her, as she was hoping we could “talk more” together. I did not have that same hope.

As 4:50 rolled around, my mom started yelling that we’re all late and that we all needed to get upstairs, pronto. I was still cleaning up and washing dishes in the kitchen. Kaia was running around happily. My dad was doing something somewhere in the basement. Chris was lying on my bed, asking what the rush was. The reason she wanted us to go upstairs as soon as possible was that she wanted us to be done with this family dinner as soon as possible. She can only keep up her “family dinner” face for so long, and she had nothing to say to my uncle. While at dinner when we were asking my aunt questions about her potentially changing living situation, my mom got mad at me for asking questions and insisted we “let her eat her dinner.” I told her that it’s normal to have a conversation at the dinner table, and that shut her up; not everyone wants to eat in silence and call that a “family dinner” for god’s sake. It’s almost like she is in pain being at a dinner table with any wider family members and she needs to find a way to make it stop as soon as possible. When they invite her, she feels a need to “return the favor” and invite them back right away, which is “suffering.” Thinking about this is so exhausting.

There were some nice moments, though. This morning before we left, Kaia kept insisting to my dad that he show her his worms in his compost pile before leaving. Obviously this made my dad beyond thrilled, so he was happy to comply with her ask. Then as he rummaged through random junk in the garage, she insisted she wanted to stay with him to watch what he was doing. This attachment she’s developed to my dad has been really endearing. Every time she yells, “GONGGONG! GONGGONG!” and runs after him, it makes me smile and chuckle. Chris commented that my dad has probably never felt more desired or more affection from another human in his entire life before now. He is probably right.

And as we packed up the car to go to the airport, while she was being a little bratty and refused to give my mom a hug and kiss until the very last minute, she had zero problem giving my dad endless hugs and kisses and grabbing onto his leg until she had to let go and get into the car. My dad’s big goofy grin in this moment was pretty epic… and this is coming from someone who never uses that word.

When we got to the airport lounge and sat down, I asked Kaia if she missed Popo and Gonggong. She nodded her head and quietly said a drawn out, “Yeah.” Then, she didn’t say anything for while, but out of nowhere looked at me and said, “We never got to see Jiujiu… because he died.”

Yes, that is true. At least she waited to say that until after my parents were gone because I am not sure how they would have reacted to hearing Kaia say this.

The soft side of my dad

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In the evenings before bed, my parents like to make hot chocolate. They don’t do anything fancy; they use 2% cow milk, a little heavy cream for extra richness occasionally, and different forms of hot chocolate mix. The latest versions I see that look quite depleted in the cupboard are Whole Foods brand or some random organic cacao blend. My dad already pre-measured out the evening mugs for milk and was planning to warm them in the microwave and mix in the hot chocolate blend. But I told him that I’d make it properly over the stove for all of us tonight. I finally asked him why he didn’t use the Dandelion Chocolate hot chocolate mix I got him; two of the three glass jars were still sitting in the cupboard fully sealed. He hesitated initially and said that he found it a bit too sweet for bedtime, which I could understand. So we compromised, and I mixed some of his unsweetened cacao into the Dandelion hot chocolate blend.

As I heated the pot over the stove, my dad stuck around while I mixed occasionally. We actually had a pretty decent chat. We somehow managed to cover glucose and cholesterol levels, general health maintenance, diet modifications based on age, dental care and insurance, my work, the Nepal flooding (!), and general house maintenance in a very short space of time while in the kitchen together. I’ve realized over all the years of returning home that my dad really does not enjoy table side conversation; he actually detests it most times and rarely says anything at the table unless it’s something specifically interesting to him. Because of this, I usually don’t probe him much at the table. My dad’s favorite way of talking to anyone is while each person is sort of side by side. One person may be occupied with a task like heating milk over the stove (me) while the other person (in this case, him) lingers nearby. One person asks the other person an innocuous question out of the blue. The other person responds. Then the conversation either builds on that topic or another unrelated topic comes up. But the door has already been opened to allow the conversation to flow pretty easily.

Long ago, I gave up on the idea that I could change my relationship with my dad. We’ve had many ups and downs over the years. I spent a lot of my childhood living in fear that he’d lash out at me the way he did with Ed. And yes, of course every now and then, he definitely did lash out at me with his fangs. But I have forgiven him for his shortcomings because I know he had a miserable, difficult, and impoverished childhood, with very little love or direction given by either of his parents. I have moments when I get pissed because I am human, but I try to remember his childhood hardships. I have come to terms that we will never have the ideal daddy-daughter relationship or closeness I wish we could have had. I have made peace with it, mourned it, and let it go. Instead, I do exactly what ChatGPT suggested I do, which is to find power in the moments instead of forced, idealized, longer periods of time together. So if that means offering to make him hot chocolate and chatting over the stove one on one, or dusting the living room surfaces side by side while having random chatter, then I will embrace it. Those are the times he feels the most relaxed and open to me. Those are also the times he seems the softest to me.

What I’ve also loved watching during this trip particularly is how much Kaia has embraced my dad. She actively engages with her Gonggong, shows him that she wants his attention, and will not accept any less (this level of stubbornness is truly amazing and so hilarious to watch). On Sunday, he had to go out to pick up dinner takeout; she blocked the door and prevented him from leaving. When he tried to climb over her, she grabbed his leg and said he would not be allowed to leave. Eventually I had to intervene and pick Kaia up to let my dad out of the house, but it was such a cute and sweet (and likely infuriating for my parents!) moment to see.

Each night we’ve been at my parents’, I tell Kaia she has to go to each of them to hug and kiss them good night. What she has also done, which I did not tell her to do, is she proactively tells each of them she loves them. The first time she did this with my dad, he patted her on the back (his version of a hug…). Then when she actually uttered the words “I love you,” I could see the shock spread over his face… then eventually melt into this huge grin. Then she kept doing it with him night after night. I just loved seeing how big my dad’s smiles were each time. It was almost like for the first time in his entire life, at the age of 78, he was experiencing verbalized love and physical affection repeatedly, all from this tiny little human who has been a temporary resident at his home.

I loved seeing my dad feel loved. I had a moment when I almost started tearing up. For his entire childhood, my dad was deprived of love and affection, which turned him into this hard, stoic, emotionless man that he became. He focused on survival and financial independence only because that’s all he knew. And now, his little 4.5-year-old granddaughter gives him the love that he always needed but didn’t realize he needed.

Back in Sacramento after two years, and contemplations on the “sandwich generation”

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This morning, we drove up to Sacramento to visit and stay with a friend of ours who has a child close in age to Kaia. We have visited this friend up in Sacramento twice before, once while I was pregnant in 2021, and the last time in August 2024. We didn’t come last year because she was the primary caregiver of not just her son, for whom she is a single parent, but also her mom at the time, who was going through lung cancer treatment. So she just had too much going on at the time. She messaged me in December of last year with the good news that her mom’s cancer was in remission. Unfortunately, it seems that did not last long: the cancer had returned, and her treatments started again in the last couple weeks.

The kids got together after she picked up her son from school this afternoon, and we spent some time together at the NorCal Aquarium nearby, followed by dinner at a local South Indian restaurant we enjoyed five years ago. My other local friend joined us for dinner. Afterwards, we went back to the first friend’s house, where we chatted for the next several hours while the kids built a fort and made the most ridiculous mess in the dining room. The theme of our conversation was definitely around our health, our parents’ health and their aging and slowing down, and the overall maintenance of a home (and how overwhelming, exhausting, and expensive it can be). As I was participating in this conversation, it suddenly dawned on me how “middle aged” and “sandwich generation” this conversation felt.

That made me think about the time when the only grandparent I’ve ever known died. My paternal grandma died in 1995 when I was nine years old. At the time, my dad was 47 and my mom was 41. In the seven months leading up to her passing, my grandma was quite ill and eventually had to be moved into a convalescent home. I still have distinct memories of going to the hospital or the convalescent home almost every night after I got off school and my parents got off work. My parents somehow managed our household, worked full time, got food on the table and supplies for us, and cared for my grandma — all at the same time. I always look back at that fraught, frantic period and feel a sense of admiration for my parents and how they somehow kept it all together — at least sort of. I never felt neglected during that period, and I was always in the know with what was happening with my grandma’s state of health and treatment despite being so young.

To be frank, I am not sure if I could have ever done all the things my parents did. I can already see my parents slowing down a bit; I suppose I’ve been thinking about it a lot more on this trip. My dad, for the most part, seems to be in decent health. I know he monitors all his health results carefully and has modified his diet quite a bit over the last decade or so. My mom seems to be quite fragile, both mentally and physically. My main hope is that they live independently for as long as possible. I want them to have long, healthy, independent lives. I want to continue seeing them mobile, and I want Kaia to have a relationship with them and know them. But now when I think about how my grandma died when my dad was 47, and I am 40 today… that just gave me some chills. Death is an inevitable part of life. But I want to hope they will keep living for at least another decade or two. Here’s to hoping.

Happy 47th birthday, my sweet Ed

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Dearest Ed,

Happy 47th birthday. It’s strange to think that if you lived to now, you’d be three years away from 50 — half a century old. This year as you would know, I celebrated my 40th birthday. I realized that although it’s technically middle aged, I didn’t really “feel” middle aged, if you know what I mean. When we were little, I used to think “40” or “50” were “old.” Now, I sit in my 40.5-year-old body and do not feel old at all. In fact, I feel like I have just started to really live life in the last decade and that I’m only getting started in many ways! So when I think of it from that perspective, it makes me even sadder to know that you aren’t here… because that means that you never really got to begin living a full life. You left us just before you turned 34. I have now lived over seven years longer than you did. That feels quite unfair because it’s not like I did anything to deserve more than you.

I am in San Francisco now. Chris, Kaia, and I stayed at our parents’ place last weekend. We went to visit you at the Columbarium on Sunday. I got annoyed when visiting you because I noticed some internal fingerprints on your niche’s glass, plus some large dust particles that settled inside. So I went into the office to inquire about having it opened for cleaning. The employee who worked there told me that they would charge us $495 (YES, THAT MUCH) to open the niche. I told him that I simply wanted to have it cleaned properly, that I wanted nothing else changed. He said that in 2014, the year after you died, Dignity Memorial took ownership of the Columbarium. Once upon a time, if a family wanted to open a niche to clean or rearrange items inside, they could easily do so and schedule the visit to open and and make changes; no charges or questions asked other than to prove you were family. Now, when you want to do this because of this greedy private equity-like company, they want to charge us almost $500 to do this! This is just utter bullshit. As Chris says, “fuck those fuckers.” The moron who told me this actually had the balls to say to me that since Dignity Memorial took over the Columbarium that service has become “more refined.” No, Dipshit. Service has actually just become greedier, with all this ridiculous nickel-and-diming of grieving families and loved ones who want to have basic, simple things done in memory of their loved ones. To me, there are few things more sick or disgusting than taking advantage of people at their most vulnerable moments in life, and that’s what Dignity Memorial does.

The reason I share this with you is that I honestly wish I didn’t even know what the fucking Columbarium was. I wish you never had to die so that our parents never had to find a resting place for you. I wish I could never have entered that damn place ever. Some people say that the more knowledge you have, the better. This is an area I would be so, so happy to be ignorant to, because all I see when I think of funeral homes and crematoriums is how their owners’ eyes light up with dollar signs at the thought of people constantly dying. Death is inevitable for all of us, right? But when people like you die far too soon, it’s hardly like they care. They’re just happy to collect our dollar bills and make money off our loss of you.

Here are some things I wanted to share with you that I’ve noticed in the last year since being back home. I was actually shocked to go down to the basement and notice that it felt like there was less “stuff” cluttering the rooms than before. Our dad apparently also got rid of my entire Disney VHS collection, all your old VHSs, and CDs. All my old DVDs are gone. So those two shelves flanking the living room mantle are pretty clear (just full of dust, which our mom wants me to clean during this visit). Oddly enough, I don’t even know where the hell my wedding DVD went…?

Chris noticed that funnily enough, there seems to be more alcoholic drinks in the house. I found a bottle of Canadian whisky, a new coffee liqueur, a pumpkin-spiced coffee liqueur, and two types of ready-to-drink margarita mix — standard and even mango! Chris uses that as a little drink for himself to keep him sane while he’s here.

I spent at least four hours vacuuming, dusting, and cleaning multiple areas of the house; after filling the bathroom sink with water and cleaning just our old bedroom, the water turned black. I also had to get a tall step-stool to vacuum up a bunch of cobwebs that lined the living room, dining room, hallways, and our old bedroom. It was not fun, but it seriously needed to be done. And every time I think I am done, I find a new area of one-inch thick dust or yet another cob web to vacuum up. I have lost count of the number of spiders I’ve vacuumed up this visit.

Also, can we talk about your bed for a second? Why the hell did you ever decide to buy a new TWIN SIZED BED for yourself as a GROWN-ASS adult?! Chris slept in it two nights in a row while Kaia and I slept in my old bed, and he had horrible, lingering neck pain for days after. The bed is so tiny; as a grown adult, you can barely move in it! It’s barely even big enough for Kaia to move around, and she’s 4.5! I didn’t understand why you did it then, and I still do not understand it. You always gave yourself too little — too little credit for anything good you did, fewer things than you ever deserved.

A few days before we left for this trip, Chris asked me if I was excited to go home. I looked at him blankly and said, “Meh.” He grimaced and said we go on this trip for me, so if I feel that way, I should question why I still keep going. The truth is that I feel very “meh” about it because San Francisco is a reminder that you are gone from this world, and that hurts my heart every time I think about it. While I feel your loss in New York or anywhere else in the world I am, I feel it the most acutely when I am back home… because that was and is your home. And obviously, I feel “meh” because I know I will inevitably have to deal with our parents’ emotional immaturity, their constant nitpicking and criticism, their endless drama, lack of reasonable rationale, and the eventual and inevitable fights based on a bunch of nothing. I am not “free” here. I always feel restricted here, even as middle-aged adult with a 4.5-year-old child. You were never “free” here. But now you are free.

Kaia is starting kindergarten at a new school in a couple weeks. She’s been asking a lot about you in the last couple months because she is just starting to understand death. She keeps saying on this trip that her JiuJiu used to live here, that he’s my brother, but that he died. And so she doesn’t get to see him. She’s said this a few times now, and a few times I started tearing up. It is a loss that you never got to meet her. It is a loss that she will never get to meet you. And it a loss that I can never see the two of you interact and have any kind of relationship.

Even though our parents obviously drive me crazy, I will say that during this trip, I do enjoy the quick moments of watching them interact with Kaia a lot more. Our mom is now 72, and our dad is now 78. They are getting older, more frail, and more tired. I can see it a lot now. But I can also see they are trying with her. And so you know what — that effort is enough for me now. I’ve made peace that they will never be the parents we needed, nor the maternal grandparents I wish Kaia had. This is okay for me now. It’s no longer a mental struggle.

Maybe I just feel this way because I’ve finally reached an age or the stage of “wisdom” where I’ve just accepted life for what it is. I just let things be the way they are. Even though it’s been over 13 years since you’ve passed, I can still feel your presence in this house every time I enter and exit it. You are still here to me.

Okay, I think it’s time to wind this down and go to sleep. I miss you, Ed. I wish I could see you playing with Kaia here. I know you’d have so much fun playing catch with her and teaching her other games the way you did with me.

I love you. I hope I can see you in my dreams again soon — it’s been quite a while.

With all my love,

Yvonne

Breathing room, space, and more intergenerational family dynamic contemplation

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We spent the first two nights of this San Francisco trip at my parents, then moved over to the Marriott Marquis, Chris’s favorite San Francisco hotel (previously for work) in downtown for these last two nights. Given his status, we got upgraded into a suite, so we have a large amount of space and separate sleeping areas for us and Kaia. Every time we first enter our hotel room after being at my parents’ place, for me personally, it feels like a weight off my chest almost instantly. I feel less cluttered mentally because I have less physical dirt and clutter around me in the hotel room. I feel more peace because I don’t have either of my parents hovering over me to tell me something that Chris or I did that is wrong or not the way they do it in their house. I don’t have to feel like anyone is watching everything I am doing or lurking around the corner to give me unsolicited feedback. And because I have more open space, I feel like I have the permission to just stretch myself out and loosen up.

The physical space from my parents and their house is much needed. But I suppose it also gives me time to just think about our convoluted, complex dynamic and the fact that it has never been simple and never will be. One thing a friend of mine told me she liked about living in San Francisco and having her mom take care of her daughters from time to time was that she knew her daughters would have a closer relationship with her mom versus her in-laws, and she actually wanted that. She told me that if she were in my shoes, she’d be pretty jealous if my kid were closer to Chris’s parents than mine. I kind of wrinkled my brow at this and told her that honestly, I’ve actually never felt a remote bang of jealousy over this. All I knew was that I wanted my child to have a relationship with grandparents, period. I grew up only ever knowing my paternal grandma, and I only had her around for nine years of my life (and in those nine years, it also wasn’t that simple, either, unfortunately). I’m just grateful if Kaia has any relationship with any of her four grandparents, all of whom are luckily living.

Even though I don’t have the ideal relationship with my parents, I will say that I have moments when I am happy that Kaia does think of them lovingly, is excited to see and spend time with them, with their limited attention spans and ability to be what she needs. It does warm my heart when she has these fleeting, sweet moments with them. On Sunday when my dad showed her his remote-controlled car that lights up, spins, and even jumps up into the air, I was really amused watching how excited Kaia got and how happy my dad was in that moment teaching her how it works and how to operate the remote control. My dad is the furthest from a natural teacher, but I know he enjoys telling people how something like this works. When my mom said she had to go lie down because her back was hurting, Kaia started fussing with her, saying she couldn’t leave her and that she wanted her to stay with her. Kaia physically blocked my mom from getting off the couch, and then from leaving the living room. It was hilarious and cute, though I am sure pretty frustrating for my mom. Though my mom did feel loved from this; it was pretty obvious from her face. I couldn’t help but smile. Yes, my 4.5-year-old can be a demanding little shit, but what made me happy about this is that Kaia would not bother fussing over anyone in the same way unless she truly felt connected to the person.

My mom, unlike most traditional Asian parents, always tells me that she loves me. She does the same with Kaia. Every chance my mom gets, she kisses Kaia and says she loves her. And Kaia never hesitates to say it back eagerly and kiss her back, “Popo, I love you, too!”

No family is perfect. But I will say that there are many little moments here with my parents and Kaia that do make me happy and feel like these visits are worth it.

(I say this now. Though… I will likely change my mind in a few days when a different explosion happens).

Entering the fog – literally and figuratively

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We woke up at the eye-burning hour of 3am today to take the 6am flight to San Francisco this morning. Miraculously, I got upgraded last minute from Business to First Class, which has only ever happened once in my entire life — four years ago, in August 2022. This was when Kaia was a wee eight months old and on a plane for the very first time. We can forever and a day say that her very first flight was a transcontinental, first-class flight from JFO to SFO. I pumped milk on that flight, and she had to go between First where I was and Business where Chris was.

After we got our one checked roller bag and got into a Lyft, off we went on the freeway north to San Francisco. And as we got onto 280, all I could see was a massive layer of grey fog descend upon the skies. We were about to enter the damn fog and pathetic 60s F weather — right in August, a SUMMER MONTH. It doesn’t matter how many times I come to San Francisco, but the sight of this has never failed to annoy me to no end.

We arrived at my parents’ place. We had a usual early lunch together of takeout dim sum and some jook/congee my mom made. My mom barely said anything at the table other than to try to get Kaia to eat more food. My dad barely said much unless I asked him questions, and he promptly left the table, with his plate still there, after he finished eating. When my mom asked him why he was leaving the table, he simply responded, “I’m done eating.” That was fun.

From what I can see so far in the house, not a whole lot has changed in the last year. There’s still endless clutter and things they should not own. It’s dust galore in most places, and likely even more cob webs on the walls and ceilings. But I did notice that two shelves in the living room were completely cleared. It annoyed me a little to realize quite quickly that the contents of those shelves were previously my and Ed’s VHS and CD/DVD collections. I suppose it’s easy to declutter stuff when it’s not yours versus yours, isn’t it?

I spent about two hours after lunch vacuuming the floors and cob webs from the walls and ceilings. I also dusted the dining room surfaces and the shelves in my old bedroom where we are sleeping. I filled the bathroom sink with water and used a damp sponge to remove the heavily caked on layer of dust that was on the bedroom surfaces. When I had finally finished reaching all the surfaces I could, the water had turned completely black.

I want my parents to live independently for as long as possible, but when I look at this house deteriorate year after year, with many areas completely not maintained at all, I wonder how much longer they will feasibly continue living here. It’s not like they live in complete filth: the bathrooms and kitchen are clean. The stove is safe. I don’t think anyone has cleaner, brighter, more mildew-free bathroom tiles than my parents do. The walkways are relatively clear and you can get through doorways easily. The beds and sofas are clean and clear, able to be slept in and sat on just fine. I have offered to get them a cleaner, but of course they were adamantly against it. And to be frank, you must remove the clutter before a hired house cleaner could really do much to be worth the added expense.

A once-a-year clean that I do for them isn’t going to make a huge difference because another year will pass until the same level of cleaning happens. But I feel better doing this for them because I can clearly see they are both much more tired than before. My dad is walking with a little hunch. He gets tired more quickly and has even admitted it after being on a ladder for over 1.5 hours today to fix the kitchen overhead light that went out this morning (to be honest, I was pretty impressed he was agile enough to get up and down that six-foot ladder!). My mom is slower to move around and even process things that I say to her.

It’s sad to watch your parents get more frail and elderly right in front of your eyes.