Memories

This photo was take a few years ago.  Today would have been Auntie Ming’s 91st birthday, and I’m missing her a lot.  My phone popped up a slideshow of memories of her, which just seems like the algorithm is super sneaky, and I’ve been feeling a little sad and nostalgic for her and my mother.  I like looking back and seeing so many casual shots of her, plus some “formal” fancy studio ones and some of her dressed up for an occasion.  But I remember her best dressed in her “home clothes” just being her spectacular, quiet, loving self, doing her normal kind things (and our many, many times saying, “Auntie Ming, come and eat!”  Or “Auntie Ming, leave the dishes and come with us!  We’ll do that.”  She seemed happiest when we were all being looked after, and I’m somewhat embarrassed to admit that I liked her looking after me.  As an adult I’d sometimes say, “Can you comb my hair please?”  And she would.  I’d offer to do things like rub her feet or cut her nails or something, and she would sigh and say that there was no need to fuss.  I’ve lost count of how many times she would turn down offers of help or support; “No, don’t worry about me, save your money…” and we’d just ignore that and go ahead and get whatever it was that she said she didn’t want.

I grew up watching her look after everyone, and put herself last.  She was, though, the person who gave me the strength to make “selfish” choices.  When I’d first thought about migrating to Canada, I felt guilty and conflicted that I’d be abandoning her to look after my grandfather (my grandmother had passed at this point) and he was in his 90s and mentally beginning to deteriorate.  She told me that I had to do what was best for myself, and if that meant moving to Canada, do it without guilt or fear.  I had a home always, and if I needed to visit, I could, but I must not live my life for anyone else.  If not for that, I might not have gone ahead with my visa application to migrate.

Isn’t it amazing how sometimes the people who have the biggest impact on us are the quiet ones?  My elder niece described her as “a safe place”, which is a really beautiful tribute.  It was a running joke that she had everything in her purse.  Candies?  Yes.  Sewing kit? Yes.  Bathroom tissue?  Yes. But my purse, which weighs more than hers ever did, never has anything useful.  Keys, wallet, phone, yes.  Pen?  Iffy.  Hers would have different colours of pen, plus a notepad, spare envelope and maybe even a stamp.  I’ll never be as organized as she was.  I’ll miss her every day.  I picked up the phone to call her and wish her a happy birthday before I remembered that she wouldn’t be there…

Today also marks 3 years since the surgery on my spine to remove that tumour… I remember waking up in the hospital and asking for my phone so I could call her on her birthday and let her know that the surgery was done.  Her relief was almost visible on the phone line.  I’m glad I had her as long as I did, and I wish I could have her longer still.  My little aunt who had the biggest heart.  Good night.