Dark Clouds

My eyes are dry from the tears I shed. I didn't think that I would react that way after listening to my sister tell me that my uncle, my mom's younger brother, had passed away from liver cancer. For the past several years, my uncle had been virtually non-existent to my family. He didn't return my ailing grandparents' calls and didn't take his children to visit his lonely parents. He even missed my grandma's funeral because he was unable to catch a flight from Singapore, where he frequently traveled to for work. After my grandmother died last June, my grandpa would call him about a broken refrigerator or pipe. My uncle didn't talk much to my grandpa, but he did buy him a new fridge and fixed anything that was broken. Perhaps that was his way of expressing his love for his dad.

He wasn't always like that. When my sisters and I were kids, we would make the eight hour drive to visit our grandparents each summer in San Pablo, a suburb on the outskirts of San Francisco. My uncle, whom we called Cau 5, would pick us up and take us to Discovery Zone with his two daughters, who are seven and ten years younger than me. His wife took us to the YMCA to swim and cool off from the summer heat. When we grew up, so did the distance between my uncle and my grandparents, and inevitably, my cousins and me. There was some drama between Cau 5's wife and his older brother's, Cau 3, wife. Legend has it that they used to be best friends, but somehow jealously ensued between the two women, eventually tearing up their friendship as well as their relationship with my grandparents, ultimately separating the two brothers. Seems like the women wear the pants in the Vo house... I'm sure my grandpa's short temper had to do something with Cau 5's wife not wanting him or her kids to visit my grandpa, but then again, no one will ever know the true story because there were too many people involved to get a comprehensive, objective picture. Does it even matter anymore?

At my grandma's funeral, I was angry with my uncle for not being there. He wasn't there for my grandma when she was crying out for him, saying how much she missed him, or when she was in excruiating pain, praying for her immediate death. When he showed up the next day for dinner, I couldn't even look at him, let alone greet him. It is considered extremely rude to not greet an adult in the family, but I didn't care about what he thought. My grandpa's face lit up when he saw him, welcoming him with open arms. I could see the sadness in my mom's eyes. She does everything that my grandpa asks, even when he's yelling at her, demanding her to do it right away, his way. But he would never yell at his youngest son, never bring up the past or correct him for his wrongdoings. I remember telling myself that day that I don't consider Cau 5 my uncle anymore.

When I got the call from my sister this morning, I emailed my mom to see how she was doing. She replied saying that my uncle actually didn't die yet, but he's about to go any time now. He wants to be cremated within a day of his death. At that moment, the heavy blanket of sadness was lifted up, as if I had some hope that a miracle would happen, that he would somehow survive. I have to remind myself that life is impermanent, intranssient, that the breath that we breathe now will not be the same as the breath that we take later. I don't mean to downplay his demise; I just want to see the bigger picture...or maybe I just need a way to cope with death. Typical lessons come from people's death--live life to the fullest, don't take people who you love for granted--but the living tend to quickly forget those sayings. I hate to admit it, but I am one of those people.

I don't regret not talking to my uncle or not giving him a hug the last time I saw him. I just hope that he can rest in peace and that my cousins will be able to handle life after he is gone.