I Swear You Will Be Fine

A conversation I had with Lynn a few days ago made me think about remembrance. We were talking about grief and some cultural differences between people when they grieve. I shared that one example of this cultural difference is my grandmother. She’s Chinese, and from what I’ve observed, remembrance is not a big part of her grief journey… or maybe she does it differently. For the record: This might only apply to my family and I’m merely describing what I have observed. I am in no way saying that this is how ALL Chinese grieve, and I’m not dictating the way people should or should not grieve.

A few months ago, my grandmother asked me to assist her in deleting some chats in WhatsApp from her phone. She pointed to the chat she had with her sister, who had passed on, and told me to delete it from her phone. I paused and asked if that was her sister who had passed, and when she confirmed, I asked why she’s deleting the chat instead of keeping it. She then nonchalantly said, “She’s dead so I have no use for the chat. Why do I need to keep it?” This is not the only difference I’ve observed. In my family, we don’t talk about anything. If someone passes – and there have been a couple – we are told to never speak about them again. Whereas in your family, you are our favorite topic. It’s like you’re still here and I love it. Honestly, when I first started grieving, I only wanted to talk about you. I don’t really know why or where that came from, considering I grew up in a household that doesn’t talk, but I remember only wanting to speak about you and to you. I’m lucky enough to be able to talk about you with your family. I tried bringing you up a few times with my family, but everyone gets really tense and visibly uncomfortable. No one taught me to grieve the way I do, so maybe it’s innate – we grieve however we feel is right for us. With that being said, I also know that people are sometimes forced to grieve the way they are conditioned to, the way they’ve observed grief in others. My opinion is, there is no right way to grieve; do what you want to do.

Anyway, that got me thinking about us. I know for sure I’d throw a fit if anything of yours got deleted off my phone. I even have Safari tabs opened because they were searched or used by us. One of my open tabs includes this online game called “Draw a Perfect Circle” with a sloppily drawn circle that I can’t bear to delete because that was a simple game I introduced to you one day and that sloppily drawn circle was yours. The instance with my grandmother made me think about how different we are when it comes to grieving. But again, different people grieve differently and a deleted chat in WhatsApp does not mean an absence of love or of missing someone.

I guess people remember each other in various ways. This can apply to those who aren’t grieving too. I remember you, of course. I remember you through the recollection of our moments and memories. I remember you through the things you bought me and the things I used with you. Honestly, I don’t need anything physical to remember you, and I know that all these physical items are not you, but they help. They feel like a part of you and remind me of the happy part of my life.

A few months ago, I started a box of you. It is a cardboard box I got from ordering candles online, but I found an empty shelf to keep it and it contains everything I used when we were physically together. Here are some items I’ve placed in the box:

1.  A white t-shirt I wore very frequently last year. The first few times I went over to your place, I wore that shirt and Knight scratched it when he was excitedly jumping around. I remember looking at my scratched shirt and telling you, “Oh no, I can’t wear this anymore because there are little holes now.” And you got so worried that that made me sad that you suggested buying a new one for me. I declined – I wasn’t really upset about it; I’d never be upset if it was because of the dogs – but kept the shirt in the event that I’d want to wear it again. I didn’t, and now it sits in that box of you.
2.  Several empty lip glosses and lip balms. These are the ones I used with you last year. The ones you helped me pick out. Ones that I’d send you a picture of, asking if I should buy them. This was our shopping routine – I send you a picture of what I want and ask you if I should get it, you say no because I have so many of that item, I insist that I don’t have this variation of it, and you relent and encourage me to get it if I really want it. These lip glosses and lip balms were used with you, and they bring back memories of us as I’d put them on before school when we were on the bus. You’d volunteer to help me hold up my small mirror while I put my lip gloss or lip balm on, sometimes laughing while purposely shaking the mirror or moving my hand while I’m trying to apply it…
3.  Apart from that big box of things that remind me of you, I also have a smaller box in my bookshelf. As I’ve mentioned in several posts, I still write letters to you and seal them with a cute sticker. I used to put them in a file, but due to the overwhelming number of letters, the file has been upgraded to a box. As I write, I imagine you receiving it wherever you are, reading my words in my voice. Of course, I talk to you all the time too, so really my voice is likely ringing in your ears… oopsies!

There are many other ways I remember you. But these boxes of you are my prized possessions. You know how people like to ask the hypothetical question “What are three things you would grab if there was a fire in your house?” My answer would be: my bunnies, both boxes, and our pictures (I’ll grab them all really fast!).

I can’t wait to see you again. I love you more, always, and forever.

Love always,
Sha