He’s alive

I woke up this morning in shock after having a dream that felt so real that I thought there was absolutely no way that I dreamt it all up. I dreamt that Ed came back from the dead; no, he insisted in the dream that he never died, that he was always here. And he was really happy. I’d never seen him smile like that before… well, except the Seattle weekend we saw Shania Twain in concert.

So Ed was alive, and I was happy. But then the next thing that I learn is even more startling: he tells me that our mother is gone — she died. I’m not sure what to feel. Should I be ecstatic that Ed never died, or sobbing with grief that my mother is dead? And how does he even know she is really gone?

It’s like in real life: you can’t have everything you want, can you?

Dumb guests

If I really had it my way, there would be some relatives that I would not invite to my wedding. One of them would be my selfish, negative cousin in Brooklyn, his wife, and son. Their marriage is a complete facade; they got married because they were both getting old, and his wife really wanted to have a baby for all the wrong reasons (to fulfill parental/societal pressure, ticking body clock, etc.). Now, they are married, have a child, and are completely miserable together. They were miserable before, but now they are just miserable married. What a happy ending.

They had been putting off RSVPing for our wedding for a long time, partly because I’m sure they didn’t want to come (San Clemente is too far away from Brooklyn, apparently; they even told my aunt that it was too expensive to go, even though they both earn a very comfortable living and are probably in the top 1 percent of earners in this country), and if they chose not to, I probably would have been happier. But in the end, I’m sure his mother guilt tripped him, and he decided to come. And he had to make sure to be difficult about it. Today, he texted me and asked if he could invite his good friend from high school to my wedding.

What kind of grown 42-year-old man who has a wife and toddler asks his younger cousin if he can invite his grown man friend to her wedding?

Circle of life

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.

 

Brothers who aren’t really brothers

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.

So many dishes

I woke up early this morning to the sound of my mother doing chores in the kitchen. The faint sound of her step is unmistakable, as is the clashing sound of dishes hitting each other in this house for me. I walked into the kitchen, and multiple piles of dirty dishes had somehow already accumulated and lined the entire counter top. Only two people live in this house… two people, so how the heck are so many dishes possibly generated before 7am?! This isn’t even due to making complex, multi-step dishes… this is simply from making a bowl of oatmeal and reheating leftover food. Something is seriously wrong here.

When Chris and I are at home, we never have that many dishes just from reheating food. There’s no logic to this mess. When I told my mom that I didn’t understand why there were so many dishes, she shakes her head and simply says, “You just don’t know.” Thanks.

I watched her move around the kitchen, doing lots of busy work that was really repetitive and unnecessary. She bangs things about when she wants attention and to seem as though she is working hard to prepare my dad or me food. It was clear that she was just making up more work for herself to do when there was nothing left to do; she just wants to keep herself seeming like she is busy. She dirtied dishes just by dropping a dirty spoon into a clean pot, and there you go! Another pot needs to be washed now!

We ate breakfast together, and I didn’t pour myself a cup of milk and just sat and ate because I was in a rush to get back to my computer. She noticed I had no milk on the table as we ate, and she said to me in a cold tone, “You know, you can’t expect me to get you your milk when you work from home. It’s all there for you to take care of yourself. You have to stand up and do things on your own and not rely on me.”

(??????).

 

“Don’t cry”

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.

 

Cousins reunited

Yesterday, Chris and I met up with my dad’s younger sister’s son, who is estranged from his mother and whom I have not seen in almost nine years since another cousin’s wedding in the summer of 2007. He’s my cousin, likely my most normal, rational cousin. We didn’t grow up close because his mother, my aunt, wanted to shield him from our side of the family, but since his dad passed away in 2012 and my Ed passed in 2013, we’ve communicated a lot over e-mail and text, and we’ve gotten to know each other quite a bit. We’ve bonded over our familial dysfunction, our relationships with our respective mothers, and the loss of his father and my brother. We share a lot of despondency and a lot of confusion and anger regarding the family life we’ve experienced. It was refreshing to be having lunch with a cousin who isn’t selfish, can speak for himself and have his own opinions, and does not purposely ignore all the very real and raw problems our family causes and continues to face.

I felt sad when we left him, his wife, and his baby son at the end and drove off. He’s the person I wish I had access to growing up, who I wish Ed and I had the opportunity to get to know and get close to. This cousin is real. He’s normal, he has thoughts and frustrations that are just like Ed’s and mine.. or just like mine now that Ed is sadly gone. he doesn’t ignore the blatant issues in the family. He doesn’t make everything about himself and his own needs. I felt so sad when he told me that he may not stay for our entire wedding due to not wanting to cause a scene with his mother when she finally sees him after years of no contact of any sort. We both know she’s very capable of causing a big scene and making the event all about her instead of our marriage.

I feel so torn. My family always makes things harder for me, even at my own wedding.

Marriage and children, again

We caught up with a couple of Chris’s friends separately before heading over to Chris’s cousins’ house for our last family get-together before leaving for Hong Kong tomorrow, and as I was chatting with his best friend, we watched his three-year-old son play in the children’s play area of the mall we were having coffee at. He said that although he loved his son, he was looking forward to time away from him in March for our California wedding, and even more so if his wife would be able to come, since her attendance was still pending due to employment uncertainty. He said he’s been spending a lot of time catching up with a mutual friend of his and Chris’s, who has been with his wife for years now, and they have a few children together. He was troubled when his friend said to him that without the kids, he wouldn’t know what he would talk about with his wife. That made me feel troubled, too, just hearing that. It seems to be a common thing with new parents, forgetting why they got married in the first place and having their children be their number one priority in their lives, before even each other. Children should of course be the priority of their parents, but the parents can’t forget about each other as husband and wife, wife and wife, life partner and life partner – whatever the pairing is. I don’t think most of us get married thinking that our number one reason for getting married is procreation – at least, I hope it isn’t. I don’t think it’s a selfish thing for married couples to want to have time away from their children and just be together; if anything, I think that is a human need. And those types of needs should not be ignored.

Hen’s night

Today was Chris’s buck’s day/night, which is British/Aussie slang for bachelor party. He decided to have a multigenerational celebration, so his uncles and dad came, as well. While he was away with his male family and friends, his mom treated me to afternoon tea at the Hotel Windsor, one of the oldest and most glamorous hotels in Melbourne. On weekends, they have a special treat for afternoon tea guests, as they serve you a glass of French champagne and have a full dessert buffet in the middle of the tea room that includes a tall chocolate fountain, in which you can dip various chunked fruit and cakes, a Christmas pudding station, a custom crepe station with a server making each delicate crepe from scratch, and what seemed like an endless variety of petit fours, French sweets, and other individually portioned cakes, pies, slices, and desserts, everything from mango cheesecake, crème brulee, vanilla mille feuille, pistachio and raspberry cakes with intense pistachio flavor, fruit mince pies, multiple flavors of macarons, and mousses.

The usual tiered afternoon tea stands were gracefully presented at our table with a layer of crust-less tea sandwiches, little savory eclairs, mini meat mince pies, and savory pumpkin tarts, and topped with these perfect little scones, some plain, some with dried fruit. The variety of mango and passion fruit desserts made this experience uniquely Aussie vs. American, as well as the fruit and meat mince pies. The savory use of pumpkin was also more expected of the Aussie use of pumpkin in food, whereas I’d never seen this before at any afternoon tea spot in San Francisco or New York. Another thing that made this experience more Aussie was the subpar service. At afternoon tea at a five-star hotel in the U.S., such as the Plaza Hotel in New York, where I’ve had tea once, they present your tea almost immediately after you choose your leaf selection, and they eagerly come to refill your tiered trays as soon as they are even just half empty. There, they constantly come to dote on you and ask you if you need anything else. Here, a server came to ask to replenish only once, and our individual tea pots came out almost 20 minutes after our tiered trays came out, which was pretty ridiculous. No one came to replenish our hot water until almost an hour and a half into our dining session, too. And when I exclaimed in excitement, “Wow, there’s a custom crepe station?” when I saw the crepe chef in the middle of the room flipping, she grunted, “Yes, there is,” with the most surly facial expression possible. The servers here really seemed to hate their job and hate serving.

We came back home, and in a few hours, all of Chris’s female cousins, aunts on his dad’s side, and mom’s cousin and daughter in the area came for a semi-surprise “hen’s night” party in honor of me. We enjoyed food, conversation, a game that included a video of Chris, another around clothes pins, and Loaded Questions, and so many laughs that triggered the lingering effects of my whooping cough and further exacerbated the aches and pains in my back muscles and ribs through the night. We were all together for just over five hours, yet when I think back to my original bridal shower and bachelorette weekend back in San Francisco and Monterey in September, I realized I probably laughed more and harder tonight than I did at my own event with my own friends and family then. I guess it makes more sense since everyone here knows each other really well and we have a connection to each other, as opposed to the people back home who didn’t really know each other at all and were meeting for the first time, but it was just an observation and take away I had at the end of the night. We did have Chris’s mom’s cousin and daughter come, the daughter I met once last year and really liked, and the cousin I was meeting for the very first time tonight, and somehow they fit in straight away and got into all the inside jokes.

I guess if I really had to sum it up, the group of ten women tonight vs. the group of six in Monterey and about 16 in San Francisco are just more laid back and easy going. Uptightness doesn’t seem to exist in this group (a smidgen with Chris’s mom, but even that is so mild compared to my circle back home), and everyone truly does go with the flow and doesn’t take anything that seriously. I don’t know if uptightness is a disposition that one is just born with or something one is conditioned to be or not be based on nurture and environment, but it’s a relief to not worry so much about what I am saying or doing, fearing that I may offend someone in the room. I know if we were ever to play Loaded Questions or listen to Chris on video answering questions about himself and then me answering and comparing, a lot of my own female family members, if not ALL of them, would decline or refuse to partake in the activity, and some, like my mom, may even get offended at Chris’s answers or some of the Loaded Question questions. What will be really interesting to see is how all these women get along during our wedding week coming up in March, and if my side will even make the slightest effort to get to know these women traveling so far over beyond “Hi. How are you?” and “How do you know Yvonne/Chris?”

Menace

Last night, I dreamt I was at home, and my dad was showing Ed how to do something in the kitchen. My dad has a lot of good qualities, but teaching is not one of them. In fact, he’s probably the last person I know who I’d ever ask to teach me something because he gets extremely impatient and frustrated easily when showing anyone how to do anything. He thinks people can read his mind when he has explanations that he chooses not to verbalize because they are simply “common sense.”

Needless to say, this session was not going well, and my dad starts criticizing my brother, saying he’s doing it all wrong, that he’s useless and can’t do anything right. Ed immediately walks away from the kitchen and goes into the back room of the house. I follow him and start running after him. Ed is facing the window, and I said, “Hey… turn around. Let me give you a hug.” He reluctantly turns around and looks at my face and then opens his arms towards me. I hug him and hold him tightly, and then I start crying. “It’s okay, Ed,” I said to him, rubbing his back. “You’re not useless. You can do lots of things well. I know you can. I love you. You’re going to remember that, right?” He says nothing, but I can feel his tears dripping on my back, and he tightens his grip on me.

And a happy Boxing Day to you, too.