In Remembrance: Aunt

She didn’t die of Wuhan virus.

But, her passing during its ravaging time exacerbated its sadness.

The only consolation I had was in 2021, I could stand for a moment of silence at her grave, with my sister by my side.

It was a moment of particular gravity.

We have a total of 6 siblings.
Our parents have long gone.
Their peers whom we knew pretty much gone too.
Only Aunt remained.
Until then.

Therefore losing her not only severed our link to the previous generation.
It ushered in the reality that we are “promoted”.
However reluctantly, the day at her grave, the reality sank in.
We became the most senior generation, also next in line to die.

My aunt’s husband was wealthy.
Our family was rather poor.
So somehow there was this invisible barrier that could only be felt but not explained.

When I was small festivals were the few times I got to see her.
Except for those days when she returned to our house (actually our shop where the front was a shop and the back was for accommodation) to visit my grandmother, her mother.
It lasted till we moved.

I didn’t know for sure but guess she must be pretty close to my father, they being the two surviving siblings then.
They had an elder sister.
But she died young, after having three boys.

My aunt took the very noble step of becoming a step mother to her sister’s three boys.

For reason beyond my understanding, she was never addressed as “mom” by the three boys, ever.
And more.
Not even by her own three daughters and two sons.
My aunt was forever known as “auntie”.
That’s what I call noble.
I couldn’t imagine what it must have been in her mind all those years knowing that forever she would not be “mom” even to her own!
That’s noble.

Perhaps it could only take place in older generations, and in a village-like community.
To ensure her sister’s children would be given the best stepmother treatment, she became one, forsaking the birthright of being addressed as “mom”.
Unthinkable in USA, even in HK!

As I grew older I grew to like her more.
The invisible barrier between the wealthy family of hers and mine kind of disappeared or became irrelevant with everything else as I lived my teenager life.
So I got to be friendly with her younger children, went into their house, and had meals there, more than any of my siblings ever did.
I got the feeling that she looked after me well and wanted me do well because I was her only brother’s son.
That sense was kinship.

After I had my own career and family, every time I saw her back home, she was very nice to my family, especially to my son.
I guess by then she had grown older, and appreciated more the fact that my son was the only male descendant of her maiden family.
That’s Chinese feudalistic thinking, I admit.

She loved to invite our family to dinner at one of her restaurants that even my son had recollection of her and knew how to mimic her complexion!

After my dad passed away, we were all she had left of the root bearing her maiden last name.
I and my siblings appreciated that point more poignantly too.
So we made it a point to visit her whenever we were back, or during Chinese New Year.
It was a must have stop.
It wasn’t for her thick Lai See（利是） anymore as we used to when smaller.
It was just so we could see her, let her be proud of us, and reconnect with our older generation through her.
It was a cherished moment.
We siblings still use the photo we took with her the final time together as the profile photo of our Signal Group!

Often at the end of my visit, I would pray with her.
That’s after she had come to Christ through the work of her children from Texas, largely the youngest daughter.
The fact that she could come to a faith in Christ was nothing short of miraculous.
Too long to describe.
Suffice it to say that her husband left a sizeable room dedicated to niches and sanctuaries in her penthouse; and it was inconceivable that she would turn to Jesus.
Inconceivable did become real.
It was grace and power that won her over!

I still remember the final time we siblings visited her, probably by 2019.
She and my sisters gloated about how smooth the skin on their hands still looked and felt.
My siblings were in early seventies; our aunt perhaps early nineties.
They all prided that it was the gene that ran in our family.

Now as I am finishing this, I caress my hand and remember her.