I don’t know how to handle the death of someone that you weren’t really
that close to. Sometimes I feel as though I don’t have the right to be
sad about it. My aunt and I were never super close. From the time I was a
child I always felt that her and my grandmother favored my older and
younger cousin more. It made me understand the “middle child syndrome”
all too well even though I’m an only child. I was/am often the one that
was left out or forgotten about, but that’s all I’ve ever known. Even
with all that said she never got a chance to have children and we were
the next best thing. I will admit that being treated as the black sheep I
harbored some resentment towards this side of my family. I didn’t feel
the need to care about a group of people who I thought cared very little
about me.
During the last few months of her life we
still never became too close, but I felt like I got a chance to
understand her more than I had my entire life. I was shocked to find
that underneath it all we had a lot more in common than I realized. The
last few months of her life was spent in and out of hospitals until the
week after Thanksgiving where she never got to go back home. All that
time I was at the hospital almost everyday along with my mother. I saw
how much our lives paralleled while being complete opposites. We both
had meddling mothers who meant well, but will drive the most patient
person fucking insane. Most days would be laughs because at some point
my grandmother would say something completely redundant or simple and my
aunt would look at me and say “You see what I deal with everyday?” All I
would do is laugh, point to my mother and say “Same thing.” In between
these days of laughter would come the occasion days where she’d be
completely silent. For months doctors told her there wasn’t anything
more they could do and some days I could tell those words probably
swirled around in her head repeatedly. I’m never the optimistic person,
but I always hoped something would turn for the better. Because of my
mindset I never fully understood why other family members wore long
faces. I reminded them that they were the ones who were religious. They
should be the ones with the hope yet I felt like I was on that hope
cloud alone.
Everyday I went to the hospital I
couldn’t imagine being anywhere else. Even if I didn’t say much, which I
never do, I couldn’t imagine not being there as some sort of support.
For the last week or more that she was in the hospital her health as
well as her spirit declined. She was diagnosed March of 2013 and the
whole time she fought hard, but those last weeks she kept saying that
she was just tired. I can only imagine. I watched as the lower half of
her body swelled to almost twice her usual size. I still stayed hopeful.
Soon representatives spoke of hospice and everyone was in my ear
telling me that hospice meant death. Still I remained hopeful. Looking
back I’m not sure if I was hopeful or just in denial. Before the talk of
hospice she once mentioned that she wished she could see her home one
last time. My heart broke. This was a simple wish that most people don’t
even have to worry about. She was soon moved to hospice where she
started off energetic and again I was hopeful she’d be home in a weeks
time. That was the plan after all. After about 4 days in hospice she
became unresponsive. She was breathing and would move every now and
again, but couldn’t talk, and her body temp was burning hot. I was still
hopeful until nurses told us that when patients usually become that hot
it was because their brain was shutting down. That was a hard blow.
Just days ago she was joking and walking around and now this.
On the morning she died my mother and I went to the house my aunt
shared with my grandma to grab her some clothes so she could stay by my
aunt’s side. While there I made it a point to take pictures of every
room in the house. When we arrived to her bedside I showed her the
pictures on my phone not knowing if she could see them or not. I told
her “I know you said you wanted to see home one last time and I’m sorry
that this is only as close as I can get you there.” Later that afternoon
my younger cousin flew in from out of town. My grandma, uncle, and I
drove to the airport to get her (which was pretty far from hospice). The
moment we all walked back into her room my aunt took her last breath.
It was like something out of a movie where we got there just in time. It
was unreal to see someone who had just taken their last breath and see
almost immediately their color leave their body. I didn’t know how to
react. Even though this was an event we all knew was coming I never
thought it would actually happen.
I tried to keep the
sadness inside, but I completely broke. Crying is something I never do
in public even though I’d label myself a very sensitive and emotional
person. I hadn’t grown up around emotion. I often identify with the age
old “men aren’t supposed to cry” saying because even as a woman,
although it wasn’t said I felt like I had to hide my sensitivity. One of
my early memories as a child was watching “The Land Before Time” with
my parents and weeping when Littlefoot’s mom died. I’ll never forget my
mom looking at me and in jest said “Are you really crying?” From that
moment on whenever I felt emotion rush over me in public I sucked it up
and tucked it down deep. That’s why the death of my aunt has me in a
sort of depression. The night she passed I literally couldn’t sleep. All
I saw when my eyes closed was her lifeless body. My family looked at me
like I was strange when I told them. It seems as though they should’ve
understood what I was feeling, but no. I can’t really cry about it. So I
ask, how do you cope? How do you grieve for someone who you didn’t have
a close bond with and at one point was certain didn’t care about you?
I’m sure that’s all in my head, but it doesn’t make the feeling go away.
The day of her memorial service I was certain that I
would be fine. We all decided cremation was better (and cheaper since
she didn’t have life insurance) so I didn’t have to stare at a box with
my aunt lying in it. Halfway through the service I was okay, but one of
my aunt’s close friends got up and sang a gospel song called “I Won’t
Complain” which was fitting since my aunt hardly complained during her
illness. The power of this woman’s voice and the words made me break
slowly and once I saw my younger cousin crying I held her and just
wailed. I couldn’t hold it any longer. I didn’t realize how loud I
must’ve been, but I couldn’t stop. Moments later I looked up and saw my
family, who were also crying, give me that weird look. Wipe my tears,
suck it up, and push it down deep. Nothing needed to be said all I
needed were the stares that made me feel so small and out of place.
When the service was over the packed church went into the dining hall
to eat and catch up with long lost family and friends. When most people
had eaten and gone the weeks events kept replaying in my head and I felt
scared, alone, and down. Another old friend/client of my aunt (my aunt
was a well known hair stylist in the area), who hadn’t had a chance to
catch up with me because of all the chaos, told me of a conversation she
had with my aunt years ago about me. She told me of a time where my
aunt was trying to do something for me but couldn’t remember what and
said my aunt told her “Asia doesn’t want for anything so if this is what
she wants I’m gonna make sure she gets it.” I started to remember what
she was most likely talking about. When I was trying to move to Chicago
in 2008 I couldn’t find an apartment because I really didn’t have any
credit established nor a job (I was relocating to go to Columbia
College) and everyone wanted a cosigner. I had asked her since no one
else in my family was able to. I started to cry all over again. Here, I
thought she favored my other cousins over me and didn’t think of me at
all. Mostly I cried because she recognized that I never asked anyone for
anything yet most people accuse me of being a spoiled brat. I’m someone
who tries to do things for herself and doesn’t like to bug anyone for
help (Hell, I lost my apartment in Chicago 2012, because I wanted to
handle it on my own like an adult should. That;s how I am). She
acknowledged that. I’ve waited all of my life for someone to see that
and now it’s too late for me to thank her for seeing that I’m not some
arrogant brat. As my eyes welled up I saw my mom just look at me. It
wasn’t a look of “Are you crying again?” it was just the fact that she
just looked at me then turned back around to continue her conversation
with someone. So here I was alone and feeling horrible thinking that
maybe I shouldn’t be this emotional. Again, we weren’t close so why
would I feel this strongly about her… but I did and I felt alone in it. I
still feel alone in it.
In the weeks since her
passing I’ve mentioned to my mom and grandma to seek grief counseling,
although my younger cousin and I have said to them for years they need
some type of therapy. I still urge so that possibly they can process
these emotions openly without feeling like they have to have a guard up.
Every weekend since my aunt has passed my mom and I stay with my
grandma. One Sunday on the drive back home my mom broke down and said
that she hated to leave my grandma alone. I didn’t know how to handle
it. I never see her cry other than funerals and if I cry I’m given looks
like I’m an alien so naturally when she cries I feel extremely
uncomfortable. The only thing I can do is talk calmly and logically as
far as comforting, that idea is foreign to me when it comes to my
family.
I feel like I’m grieving in installments. I
do it alone in my room and let you all in social media land into my
feelings because I know someone out there will understand. When I enter
the world I keep it tucked away. I don’t like it, but it’s what I know.
No one has ever told me that crying is weak, but I have always been an
observant person who doesn’t need to be told anything. I can see it all
in a persons facial expressions and body language. These things and
never seeing the people closest to me be emotional has told me that
crying is something not done in public. You have a society out there
that tells men that crying is weak, but what about women like me who
have been brought up like that? I’m probably the softest person you will
ever meet with the toughest exterior to get through. I’m grieving but I
have a nagging feeling that tells me I shouldn’t be.
-Asia Aneka Anderson
Tumblr: AsiaWrites
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