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jealouscupid today was the anniversary of my 'father' and 'mother's' passing.
(this is just my jumbled rambling about things!)
it still feels weird to call them that, in a way, though. before they had passed we'd had a discussion about me telling my future children that they were my parents, and the children's grandparents -- which they'd agreed to, and felt flustered by. but still. it wasn't something i'd openly said, i guess.
growing up i had never known my biological father, and my mother and i couldn't have a relationship because she wasn't fit to parent me. in so many ways my aunt and uncle were the only adults in my life i could trust and enjoy being around.
my uncle was the first to pass because of parkinson's: and in the end, i wasn't able to be there for him. no one had told me he was in the hospital, no one had even told me he'd passed until i was sitting in our car right in front of their apartment building and had called to tell them i'd arrived. i don't think that's anyone's fault, they were all busy and grieving and trying to manage things themselves. but i just wish i'd been able to say a few last things to him.
my aunt passed a week later. she'd had colon cancer come and go, and this time it decided to stay. it was difficult to see her in so much pain and refusing her medications. she stopped eating and drinking because of the pain, but somehow i don't remember her in that state at all despite taking care of her in her home during her last week with us and seeing her like that every day.
it's been a year and we still haven't made her and him an ofrenda. but somehow, i'm not that sad.
in my culture, as weird as it is, we believe that the dead are still all around us: with us, near us, a part of us. it was incredibly difficult to deal with their loss at first, but they're still very much here in the way that i think of them almost every day. i still love them, so much.
i still wish they could have lived to see our condo, to meet our new puppy, to go to vancouver and to cuba with me like we'd always planned. i had wanted so badly to take my aunt to those places, and had even made plans to drive her to montreal after covid was over. but none of it was just meant to be, i guess. i still wish that i could have heard her thoughts and her opinions on everything, not to mention her adult guidance on things.
i remember when we got news that my uncle passed away, my husband couldn't stop crying. he had loved my uncle so much, and we'd been silly in front of him often to make him laugh and cheer him up. my husband would always go out of his way to build a bond with him -- and it meant a lot to him that my uncle would tell him, point blank, that he loved him. my aunt would, too. they told him they loved him more than even his own parents did, and despite their pain, would always ask about him and aggressively assert that they were there for him. this is how i remember my aunt the most. as a woman who'd worked 3 jobs, and dealt with cancer for so long -- but was never mean. she was stubborn (a bit), and head-strong, and wouldn't back down from her morals at all. she was funny, and she was kind. and my uncle was smart and well-read. he loved sports and he loves kids and just hated that he couldn't move -- but was also still always nice.
i learned a lot of lessons from them that i hope to pass on one day.
(this is just my jumbled rambling about things!)
it still feels weird to call them that, in a way, though. before they had passed we'd had a discussion about me telling my future children that they were my parents, and the children's grandparents -- which they'd agreed to, and felt flustered by. but still. it wasn't something i'd openly said, i guess.
growing up i had never known my biological father, and my mother and i couldn't have a relationship because she wasn't fit to parent me. in so many ways my aunt and uncle were the only adults in my life i could trust and enjoy being around.
my uncle was the first to pass because of parkinson's: and in the end, i wasn't able to be there for him. no one had told me he was in the hospital, no one had even told me he'd passed until i was sitting in our car right in front of their apartment building and had called to tell them i'd arrived. i don't think that's anyone's fault, they were all busy and grieving and trying to manage things themselves. but i just wish i'd been able to say a few last things to him.
my aunt passed a week later. she'd had colon cancer come and go, and this time it decided to stay. it was difficult to see her in so much pain and refusing her medications. she stopped eating and drinking because of the pain, but somehow i don't remember her in that state at all despite taking care of her in her home during her last week with us and seeing her like that every day.
it's been a year and we still haven't made her and him an ofrenda. but somehow, i'm not that sad.
in my culture, as weird as it is, we believe that the dead are still all around us: with us, near us, a part of us. it was incredibly difficult to deal with their loss at first, but they're still very much here in the way that i think of them almost every day. i still love them, so much.
i still wish they could have lived to see our condo, to meet our new puppy, to go to vancouver and to cuba with me like we'd always planned. i had wanted so badly to take my aunt to those places, and had even made plans to drive her to montreal after covid was over. but none of it was just meant to be, i guess. i still wish that i could have heard her thoughts and her opinions on everything, not to mention her adult guidance on things.
i remember when we got news that my uncle passed away, my husband couldn't stop crying. he had loved my uncle so much, and we'd been silly in front of him often to make him laugh and cheer him up. my husband would always go out of his way to build a bond with him -- and it meant a lot to him that my uncle would tell him, point blank, that he loved him. my aunt would, too. they told him they loved him more than even his own parents did, and despite their pain, would always ask about him and aggressively assert that they were there for him. this is how i remember my aunt the most. as a woman who'd worked 3 jobs, and dealt with cancer for so long -- but was never mean. she was stubborn (a bit), and head-strong, and wouldn't back down from her morals at all. she was funny, and she was kind. and my uncle was smart and well-read. he loved sports and he loves kids and just hated that he couldn't move -- but was also still always nice.
i learned a lot of lessons from them that i hope to pass on one day.
