Sending Off Grandma

Grandma loved hiking up Yurongshan but, in her later years, was not very good at not falling down. Last year, on a hike, she fell and broke a hip. This sent Mom into a panic and she sped home and put her in hospital and accompanied her on her recovery. When that was done, Grandma went hiking on Yurongshan again and fell down again and fractured her hip again, this time on the other side. After that recovery she joined the nursing home where, after a short few months of getting used to her new life and building rapport with the support staff, she faded away and died. It happened quickly, and in any case the tribe has a deep distaste for the idea of life support at all costs, and was glad to see that she has gone so quietly.

I was called home in short order. I had missed Grandpa's funeral in June 2009 and had resented my parents for going to China without me, even as my sergeant major had given me compassionate leave. So there is no question when Dad asked me if I would like to go; I definitely would, and twice over if it could right a historical wrong. Mom's parents had been my caretakers when I was a toddler, and I was close to them.

Mom delegated some key tasks for me, and I was oddly honoured to follow through with them. I chose the design of the urn at the undertaker's: An urn of dark sandalwood, minimally adorned. I did the overnight vigil at the memorial hall with Dad, and I carried Grandma's ashes from the crematorium to the columbarium. Some of these duties were rightfully performed by my cousins, Grandma's male-line descendants. Despite this, I took those over from them because they were estranged, by way of my late uncle, and did not show up.

Because the vigil was performed by my Dad and myself, it was a night of light foolishness. At night the bugs of the forest liked to fly into the memorial hall, attracted and disoriented by the lights. That night was the first time I saw an owlfly. Dad saw the owlfly, which was like a dragonfly with long, strange, alien-looking antennae that ended in knobs, and quipped "Grandpa is visiting". Another time I rescued a large beetle that liked to flip on its back and Dad said, "that's a dung beetle; uncle is visiting!" At the crack of dawn he got the zoomies and went out to walk around the tombstones while I was fast asleep on the bench. This light-heartedness he attributes to the family's Catholic faith, which lifts the weight of the many ancient taboos around death off our shoulders.

Chengguan Liqiao Catholic Church