Yesterday was the last day of my California trip for the month, and in the evening, I boarded a red-eye flight to come back to New York in time for the Monday work day. It was probably the most peculiar last day in San Francisco I’ve ever had: it started with a funeral, and it ended with a child’s birthday party. I guess you could call it a day that truly represents the circle of life.

This morning, I walked into the funeral home by myself to the loud sound of Chinese chanting accompanied by instruments playing. It was an extremely traditional Buddhist funeral to say the least, complete with professional singing, chanting, and instrument playing, all with very elaborate costuming and the family remaining fully active the entire time – standing, bowing, kow-towing, kneeling, getting up, and doing that all over again probably over a dozen times.

Before our mutual friend arrived, I sat by myself for a long time in the back of the chapel, observing the service and remembering the last time I saw this friend’s friend. It made me tear up just to think about it; the last time I saw her was the day of my brother’s funeral service and dinner. She had come despite never having met my brother just to pay respects, gave my family and me a very heartfelt sympathy card along with a generous amount of money, and had comforted me through that period. How strange is it that over two and a half years have passed since my brother’s passing, and I haven’t seen her up until now. Of course, I had been in San Francisco many times since then, but our schedules never really matched up. When is it that the last two times you see anyone is at a funeral of respective immediate family?

Now, we’re bonded by despondency. When I saw her, I gave her a long, strong hug, kissed her, and expressed my sadness, and she cried even harder than she already was, which made me tear up to hear her so sad. I have heard second hand how hard it’s been given that both of her parents have been struggling with health issues for so long, and her mother was so sick that she couldn’t even attend the funeral.

Losing Ed was the single most devastating thing that has ever happened in my life; it goes without saying. It was even harder because it was always my single worst fear, that one day I’d lose my brother to suicide. But as sad as that is, I am also terrified of the feeling of losing my own parents and what level of despair that may bring. And that also made it hard for me to see my friend’s friend in her current state yesterday morning.

We had a family dinner tonight with my parents, aunt, uncle, cousin, cousin’s wife, and a random JW friend of my mother’s. It was filled with as many uncomfortable moments and silences as I originally imagined, along with some tense exchanges of looks. My dad, who never sees his brother unless I am home (my uncle likes to see me, just not his brother or his wife), barely made eye contact when he said hi to my uncle, and my uncle gave him an awkward pat on the back to greet him. They proceeded to barely speak to each other throughout the meal until health-related topics came up, like who has what level of HDL vs LDL, what so and so’s blood glucose level was, and how someone else is cutting back on their meat intake. There were times when my uncle would say something, then my dad would loudly announce to my mother sitting next to him what my uncle just said as though she weren’t at the table with the rest of us. Uncomfortable and annoying. Then there were so many moments that I can’t even count where my dad would make know-it-all remarks back to my cousin or my uncle where the conversations would just end because no one ever wants to respond to someone who thinks he is a know-it-all, especially when everyone at the table knows he isn’t.

Every time we have one of these family meals, I always kind of sit back and just observe the awkwardness. I notice when my dad decides to tune in and tune out. I can see when my mom is trying to suck up or seem impressive to my aunt, or when she is babying my father by dumping food on his plate because he cannot seem to serve himself. I also notice when she decides she doesn’t want to listen to what anyone is saying and just start her own random, boring topics, or when she forces everyone to get up and leave when everyone is not quite ready.

But what really annoys me at these meals is the interaction between my dad and my uncle. They are two adult brothers who can’t seem to act like adults with each other; in fact, maybe neither of them has really become a true adult in the most genuine sense of that word (that begs the question, which of us is really an adult and why? But that is another tangent). They’ve held grudges against each other since their teen years, which is so embarrassing now considering they are in their mid to late 60s. They don’t even have a relationship with each other period, and are only forced to see each other to have some superficial guise of normalcy because of my existence. They have shared their intense criticisms about each other with me, and yes, much truth lies in both sides. It is just so sad to me because they are missing out on sibling love. They are so blinded by their grudges and hate and anger and hostility that they can’t see what they are lacking and giving up. That is just so pathetic.

Ed knows I’m here. He can see and feel me here the way I can feel his presence all over this house, and even throughout the Richmond district where I walk. He doesn’t normally visit me in dreams when I am here, but he did last night.

In my dream, I walked into a wide hallway in a nondescript building, and I see him standing there, facing me with a straight face, a slight spark of surprise in his eyes. And like clockwork, I immediately run up to him, grab his neck, hug him, and burst into tears. I tell him how happy I am to see him again and how much I’ve missed him. All of this is becoming like a broken record in my dreams. He puts his arms around me and pats me on my back.

“Yvonne,” he says sternly. “You have to stop this. You do this every time you see me. You have to stop crying. Don’t cry. This just isn’t healthy.”

“I can’t help it,” I respond through my sobs. “I just really, really miss you. And I just really wish you were really here.”

“I am here,” he says calmly while rubbing my back. “I’m here.”

But you aren’t, I think to myself. After these fleeting yet deeply cherished moments that my subconscious has conjured up, you will drift away from me, and I will drift off and eventually wake up. And in my bed in our old bedroom, I will awaken and turn to my right and see an empty bed next to me, the one you used to sleep in, sometimes soundly, sometimes tormented.

And that’s exactly what happened. At 3:30am this morning, I abruptly woke up and started coughing lightly, and I turned to my right and saw your empty bed…. your empty, empty bed.