Auntie Ming

 

I’m beyond heartbroken to have to share that my tiny aunt Ming (full name Marlene Garcia) died this afternoon at 12:30 EDT.  She died peacefully, falling into sleep and not waking.  She had been declining for the last couple of months, growing weaker by the day.  I’m distressed that I wasn’t able to be with her before her passing; my sister and I were travelling to see her at the end of October, but I guess that she was in a hurry to go home.  For myself, I learned about her passing just as I was getting ready to leave for the train to meet my sister so I cried on Don’s shoulder for a bit, and then he dropped me at the station.  I’m sitting in the car now, bawling like a hurt infant, because this news is so raw.  I’ve spoken to my sister and my dad, and there will be other calls to make later but I’ll use this time to tell you a little about her.

Marlene Augusta Garcia was the eldest daughter and second child of her parents Roderick and Elisher (neé Jones) Garcia.  Her brother died shortly after his birth.  She was followed, and predeceased, by her sisters Margaret and Lydia (my mother).  Her father called her “Ming” because he thought that she was such a delight (Ming = “bright” or “pretty”)  She was just 9 when her father died, and her youngest sister, my mother, was only a few months old.  She often told me about how she helped my grandmother in that difficult period, looking after the 2 smaller girls and the other cousins and family members who were often at my grandmother’s home.  She attended St Joseph’s Convent St Joseph (also my alma mater) and was involved in church activities from her early childhood.  I remember her telling me stories of being in the procession for Our Lady until she “developed” and wasn’t allowed any more.  (That was only for prepubescent girls.)  She went to work at Caroni Limited as as clerk typist after she’d graduated from high school, and was something of a trend setter.  As a young woman at the time, she had to get permission from a male relative to learn how to drive (I saw the letter written by a friend of her father’s, attesting that she was a “modest, responsible young woman who could be trusted”)  She worked at Caroni for almost 40 years, and was a well loved staff member.  Her bosses did all they could to look out for her, often moving her with them as they progressed in the company.  

She never married, remaining in the home where she was born.  My mother had 4 children, and for us, Auntie Ming was a second mother.  She cared for us when we were growing up, and we knew that she would always be there to support, cheerlead, encourage and protect us.  She, and my grandmother, taught all of us how to cook, to care for ourselves, and so on.  We called her “Ab” (short for Abbott) a nickname given to her by my youngest brother from the old Abbott and Costello cartoons.  Costello would yell, “Hey Abbott!” to get his attention, and we started calling her “Ab” because she was the one we went to for almost everything.  I don’t think that anyone, outside of her work colleagues, ever called her Marlene.  She was always Ming, and latterly Ab to her nieces and nephews.  

My memories of her go all through my life.  She was always there.  I spent a lot of my childhood with my grandmother and because Auntie Ming lived with her, she was always there too.  When I was thinking about moving to Canada, I went to her to ask for ear opinion.  She encouraged me to go, because she said that I needed to live my own life, not spend it looking after her.  That relieved a little of my guilt, and I went.  She spent most of the last 24 summers with me in Ottawa, and once a Christmas.  She, my mother and Don all got along very well — it was impossible to dislike her.  All of my friends, all my life, adopted her as their Auntie Ming as well.  She cared for all of us, and the children of her friends — many of whom were her godchildren.  She was a truly gentle person, who was kindness personified.

I’ll never be able to cook like her.  Even with her standing next to me watching as I copied her, her dishes always had that something extra that I could never emulate.  I did learn how to make several of her “signature” dishes, although as inferior copies, and I always heard her in my head as I prepare them.  She comforted me during difficult times, and I knew that she prayed incessantly for all of us.  In the last months of her life, we would pray the rosary together every afternoon when I called.  I remember her trying to persuade me to become a nun when I was a little girl, and I would say that I wanted to be a priest instead, because nuns had to live in a convent, and priests could go out.  Besides, priests could say Mass, and I would have preferred that!  Feel free to challenge my little feminist rebelliousness… 

I have 54 years of memories of her.  Well, not quite, but almost.  Every milestone in my life, she was there.  Whenever I went back home, I stayed with her at least half (if not more) of the time, and I took her with me anywhere I went.  I used to joke that she was the gas in my car, because I couldn’t leave without her.  She was always ready to do things, and would be dressed and waiting whenever we came up with an outing.  It was different when we were kids, because she didn’t like to eat out (never really did, although we were able to persuade her to try some) and she would often refuse to join us.  Once I learned to drive, she almost always occupied the passenger seat and was dragged along.  I’ve got photos of her and her sisters travelling in high style in the 1960s, and we all travelled to Europe together, plus trips to different locations over time.  I think one of my best memories was when we made a pilgrimage to Egypt, Jordan and Israel where she and I shared a room and sat beside each other on the tour buses.

I sometimes wondered if my mother was ever jealous of our attachment to our aunts.  I don’t think so, as they were as close as could be and did almost everything together.  After my other aunt died when I was about 12, Auntie Ming was our “little old aunt” (she would laugh at that, and call me her “big old niece.”) I’m rambling, I know.  My dad has asked that I write the tribute to her for her funeral (which I probably will be too late to attend — there are NO seats on flights before our trip at the end of October, and it’s likely that the funeral will be held before we arrive.)  I thought that if I wrote this out now it would help organize my thoughts, but I admit that I’m crying more than really marshalling my thoughts.  Forgive my disorientation.  I feel broken and lost right now.  I had hoped, desperately, that I would have been able to see her but that didn’t work, and this time she won’t be there to comfort me. I can’t yet find solace in knowing that she died peacefully, after suffering pain and discomfort for the past few weeks..  I feel some guilt that I wasn’t able to travel to be with her earlier, and I am angry that Covid separated us for the last 3 years.

We are all grieving today, although we’re separated by many thousands of miles.  I will miss my aunt, and I know that it will feel odd not to be calling her at 5 every evening.  We spoke yesterday, as we always did, and we always ended by saying, “Talk tomorrow, God willing.  Good night.”  Good night, little aunt.  Sleep well.