Welcome! I’m writing about my creative growth in hopes of making this blog an inspirational magnet. I believe this: Everything I need, I already have. And maybe, so do you.
Today was Uncle Fan’s funeral. He was a very quiet man who was always around because he married my father’s baby sister. And Auntie Fan, who’s in her 80s (she won’t give her exact age), hosted a fabulous sendoff that helped me reconnect to the Liu family in a very lovely way.
October 18, 2009 7:08 PM
Dad died in 1976. He was the oldest brother and first to come to America. Later, he sent for his two brothers, two sisters, a niece and a nephew, who immigrated from Saigon along with their spouses and children. More kids were born here. I used to see them all at weddings. Lately, it’s been at funerals. Auntie Fan and I haven’t spoken in years. But looking into her eyes again felt a little like being with Dad --
the shape of her face is similar. So is the smooth complexion and the way she rocks from side-to-side when she walks.
Last night, there was a wake and dinner. After this morning’s funeral, we had another vegetarian feast. There was tons of catching up to do with the aunties and cousins and their kids and grandkids. It was intense to be back in the old neighborhood for such an important event. Since my dad’s passing, I’ve come to really appreciate the rituals of mourning Chinatown style, especially since we lived right near Mulberry Street’s two main funeral homes. I always stopped to watch the processions, which makes being in one even more meaningful.
This is where I grew up.
These are the two Chinese funeral homes. Mourners usually send big floral arrangements to the wake. On the day of the funeral, the flowers are loaded onto a gleaming black Cadillac Escalade topped by a solemn photo portrait of the deceased.
Then our nine cars caravanned to Green-Wood Cemetery for the cremation. It was my first visit to Brooklyn’s final resting place for the famous and infamous, which opened back in 1838. How surreal to be a mourner -- and browsing through brochures for the fascinating, fun, $15 trolley rides that ramble around this 478-acre national historic landmark. Then again, only the best for Uncle Fan.
His service was held in an stately, wood-paneled room with plush seats. Very “high class,” as my dad would say. A tape of chanting Buddhist monks played in the background. We all went up to bow before the coffin.
Uncle Fan was a retired United Nations translator. Auntie Fan used to work for the city. Nearly seven years ago, an illness left him bedridden. Taking care of him and managing
his team of 24/7 home attendants became Auntie’s life. (They had no children.)
When we set out this morning, it was pouring. One of my first cousins said the rain was good luck. With Uncle Fan’s photo perched high on the Caddy’s roof, he symbolically led the way for a farewell tour of his stomping grounds. Auntie rode in the first car with a big, smoking incense stick fixed to the window. The hearse cruised through the neighborhood to this and that favorite spot. At each location, the hearse’s driver stopped, jumped out, opened the trunk door and bowed to Uncle’s casket as his spirit said goodbye.
I was raised Christian so the Buddhist rituals weren’t familiar to me. But I did understand that
it’s important for the departed to have food for the after-life. There was a simple arrangement
of cooked chicken, a bottle of Chinese wine and a takeout box of rice that was just luminous to behold. No one touched the food. Instead, we each placed a red rose on Uncle’s casket.
Inside was a nickel and
a hard candy. They
were symbolic gifts --
wishes for us to be
prosperous and have
sweet lives as we
moved on from
grieving. We
need to continue
on new journeys.
As we left, we were each handed a small envelope. (We got them at
the Chinatown funeral home too.)
When the service ended, Auntie Fan, who is still a sharp cookie,
pushed her walker past Uncle Fan’s portrait. Hardly anyone was left in the room.
Without breaking her stride, she took one last look at his photo. Then she gently brushed her fingertips across the fresh lillies and roses that framed his head. It was a final kiss, a whisper, a tender caress from a woman who loved her man.
Auntie Fan’s simple gesture made me smile. And, cry.
