Confused at Best

after that first visit in the ICU, i left with unreasonable hope. she’ll get better, I said to everyone. my dad smiled on the car ride home. we were so relieved. and then the next time we discussed transferring her to a long term care facility. I’ll visit you there, I said. I’ll bring my dad, don’t worry. She was so optimistic. She asked about physical therapy. I knew the road would be long, but I was confident in her strength. The doctors mentioned her platelet counts were low, but they said it was probably fine. But soon— the cancer had actually spread to her bones. And then she was gone.

Her son handed me a gift at her funeral— a gold bracelet. It’s customary in my dad’s hometown to gift a bride gold. She spoke of this at the hospital. It broke me. I clutched onto the box. My tears warped the cardboard. She was unrecognizable lying in her coffin. Her skin was the wrong color. Her face sunken at the cheeks and swollen at the chin. We bowed three times right before she was cremated. Afterwards, I dreamt I found her stranded on a black sand beach— the waves were too loud for me to hear her but I could see she was crying. I couldn’t reach her and I woke up sobbing. I wish I had visited her more. Why didn’t I? Why didn’t I?

I can’t explain the loyalty. Maybe it’s sickness or is it just biology, nature? I knew my duty. I came home, despite the rift, I materialized. On the drive home, I said to Greg, it’s a very simple feeling that I can’t explain at all. On the flip side— Janet didn’t. Her reasoning is her own.

My dad cried while talking about how after his grandmother died, he thought he saw her while walking back from school. He followed an old woman down a side street, hoping there had been some terrible mistake and she had actually survived. My mom told him to stop crying already. She ridiculed his family for always rehashing the bitter times. I had forgotten this dynamic. Later Greg remarked how it was cold of her. I defended her. She’s always been this way. Her mom was murdered when she was 10. Nothing can compare to that loss in her mind. Earlier she recounted a story from when I was 15 and she drove next to me while I biked home from Molly’s house. I remembered this because when I got home she was crying in the garage. She didn’t tell me why then. It reminded her of when she biked 6 hours to the prison/reeducation facility to see her mom. She thought her mom would embrace her and tell her what a good job she had done but her suffering had become close to its breaking point then and she hardly acknowledged her. Seeing me bike home made her see me for the first time in a long time. I saw you had grown up. As she recounted this story, I felt pity. I stared at the soapy water rushing down the drain in the same sink I used to need a chair to reach.

She passed away. I saw the message pop up in the family WeChat. I knew even before I used Google translate. My dad was quiet on the phone. Still I knew he was crying. I heard the sharp inhales of his breath and the quiver in his voice. I want to be home, I said to Greg and he packed up our things. He put our cats in the car and drove us home while I cried in the passenger seat. She was a remarkable person. Battled breast cancer for almost 30 years. She did it so bravely. She was warm and kind. I remember when my fingernail caught on my suitcase and ripped off while traveling through China with her. She brought me to a local clinic where they lathered on beautifully mixed and colored creams over my finger. Greg and I visited her once in New York. We brought fruit and she sent us home with wine. We cobbled together a conversation with miming and our broken Chinese. She asked us to come back soon. We can all drink together, she said. But then— the pandemic happened and her cancer relapsed. Come visit when I’m better, she’d say. And then suddenly— If there is something after this I hope she is with her eldest brother and parents.

you love the blanket I crocheted for you in 2017 more now. we’ll have it forever, you said. you made it for me at the beginning— you fell asleep after i put on Gilmore girls with the blanket wrapped around you and Reggie sleeping on top. I’m so grateful for this life with you

songs from that time have been going viral. hearing it at my favorite bakery felt like falling down a well. i played that song in your car, your adaptor was a cassette tape. we drove spontaneously to Worcester and camped in some high school’s soccer field. my bones were filled with heartbreak. it poisoned every feeling. i can’t explain it, i remember saying. how long does it take to recover? i asked. you thought for a moment and said, whenever it feels finished. every second back then was agony. nausea in every cell. it’s almost funny to recall. i remember the feeling, the moments, but not the reasoning. it was ineffable then and i suppose now still.

What’s my scientific direction? Where do I go next? What do I want my future lab to study, if I’m so lucky. I’m overwhelmed

When he passed, I didn’t realize his absence would grow like a shadow.

I can’t really remember a time before you were around.

We watched the World Cup game at Coolidge Corner Clubhouse. I got my first legal drink here, I said. I ordered a dirty vodka martini in honor of the past. I saw the ghosts of us in a booth that no longer exists. You laughed and smiled and I didn’t realize these were some of the last times. We biked afterwards to your house. You went into your room. I wish now I had knocked. I’m almost done with grad school. Almost a post doc. Almost the age and stage when you— I thought—

She cried when she held my hand. i got you a wedding present, she whispered. her son cried and nodded when she instructed him on how to send it to me. she gave me a list of places in China she had wanted to take me when I finished grad school. i promised her I’d still go. My heart is in pain, she said. There was so much more life she had wanted to live. I’m so scared, she said to my dad. He sobbed and I cried harder. On the car ride back he said he hoped there was something after all this suffering. Maybe she will join my parents and our brother.

back then I froze over so much I feared the sun.

waiting for death

the cancer spread to her bones.

hiking the narrows— we reminisce on the past, dream about the future, and comment on the scenery. staring up at the stars peaking between the canyon, riddled with unreasonable fear. we listened to the chirps of bats, waiting for the unmistakable growl of a beast or footsteps of a killer that never came. we drifted off into a restless sleep, relieved when daylight came pouring in. we laughed at our silliness then splashed in a sun soaked spring. blood spilled out of your boot when we finished. Nola slept in my bed, seemingly aware I’d leave in the morning. She saw me when I was 19, I said. You were there when we got her as a puppy, Nat replied. Now she’s an old lady. When did she surpass me?

We still giggle when we’re together— my lab manager was shocked. 10 years? You look newly in love. I hold your face between my palms. I love you I love you I love you