By Assunta Ng
Paper dolls playing mahjong symbolizing leisure in the afterlife (Photo by George Liu/NWAW)
My brother sent me an e-mail. “Dad has passed away, please contact Hong Kong,” it said. So began my sad trip to the funeral in Hong Kong. Despite my great sadness, I attended an exciting event for my son while I was in Hong Kong, where he served as co-emcee with a Miss Hong Kong runner-up for his company’s event at the convention center. But let me continue my story …
Most would not feel sorry over the death of a person who lived a long life. My dad lived to 93.
However, when I first saw the e-mail, I sobbed, weeping like a hungry baby who has gone without milk for days. My tears would not stop. I cried for the father that I didn’t have all these years. I cried for the father I couldn’t have due to my parents’ separation. I cried for the father who was a stranger to me during the first half of my life.
His death reopened old wounds, which I had buried for a long time. I never knew how to begin my childhood story. It was always hard to share because there were many missing pieces. My parents never volunteered to divulge any details. I tried to make sense of it as a child, and I still do as an adult. I recently tried to share this with friends. I have learned that sometimes it is better not to know all the details. Things happen, and my parents tried to do the best they could for their children.
One friend said that I had a traumatic childhood. To this, my mother would probably respond, “You had food on the table and a good education. What else can you ask for?” Compared to her childhood torn by a war and affected by a broken home, mine should not be considered bad. Perhaps a child needs more than just being fed?
When I was little, my mother tried to block me from knowing my other siblings or from having anything to do with my dad. The subject was a taboo in my family. One day, after I had my own kids, I mustered all my courage and asked my mom, “Why are you still mad at dad?”
When I told my dad the cause of her anger, my dad quickly fixed it. I prided myself in bringing forth the reconciliation. They were friends again.
Saying goodbye
Last year, I called my dad on a special occasion. He had a habit of hanging up his cell phone when it rang. Miraculously, he picked it up after my second call.
“Dad, do you remember what day it is today?” I was quizzing him to see if he remembered my birthday.
“Your birthday!” he said. Even at the age of 92, he remembered all of his 15 kids’ birthdays.
“Thank you for giving me life.” My voice shook with emotion. That was the first time I had showed gratitude for everything he did and did not do for me. What he didn’t do is not important. The void was an inspiration for me to pursue the journey that I wanted. Our times together might have been short, but they were meaningful and impactful. I still remember my first gift to him was a pair of Italian shoes, which he and I had picked from Nordstrom together. His gifts to me were many wise words about life, including, “If you insist on perfection, you can’t be a happy person.” I love you, Dad.
A new perspective
It was at a wedding, a birthday party, and two funerals where I finally got to meet all my step-siblings and cousins from both my dad and stepdad’s families. My family history is complicated, and friends often get confused about which brother I am talking about.
In the past, I was ashamed to share with friends that my family had been split. As a child, I felt very lonely at home living with a brother seven years younger than me. From the ages of 12 to 17, I was often left alone with my grandmother and brother when my mother would follow my stepfather on business trips.* Today, society’s attitudes have changed. A family’s structure no longer needs to be defined by a marriage. We can all redefine our own family relationships under our own terms and comfort level.
How different would life be if I had had the opportunity to grow up knowing all my sisters and brother. Now, as an adult, I feel blessed to have such a big family. The nieces and nephews are of a completely different generation, full of life and ideals. I am still trying to keep track of them with the help of Facebook.
A Christian funeral
It wasn’t easy to arrange a funeral in Hong Kong. With more than seven million people, funeral homes are in high demand, and they are packed from morning ’til dusk. At any point, there could be 40 funerals going on in one building at the same time.* The funeral homes are efficient in presenting different cultural ceremonies, from Buddhist to Christian. My dad became a Christian several years ago. So the service was cleaner, simpler, and faster than a Buddhist one.
Buddhist ceremonies sometimes last as long as seven days, allowing lots of mourning and a display of paper dolls and objects, including fake money and paper cars to burn to symbolize possessions for the dead to use in the afterlife. My dad’s service lasted two days, including cremation and a funeral banquet. (end)
*Sentences were added to this blog following print, and are not included in the print edition.