Wednesday, September 22, 2004
Dear Aunty,
Dear Aunty,
I feel foolish writing this letter to you now. For one, it is just too late. You're gone. Secondly, you don't really know any English, so why am I writing this in English, even if you would ever get to read it..? English wouldn't help. Well, I don't know where to begin, so I'll just do my best to spew out whatever I'm thinking somewhat coherently.
I found out about your death earlier this week. Or maybe it was over the weekend, or late last week. I don't really remember. It was over an e-mail that my mom sent me, I think. But I was so busy, and wrapped up in my own little world, and my own problems, that I totally glossed over your death and didn't take a second to pause and think about what that meant. I'm so ashamed about that, I'm so sorry.
But tonight, after I had turned off the computer, and once I was ready to go to bed, thoughts drifted through my mind as they normally do before I end a day. You came to mind. And I stopped, and I gasped, and I realized what it meant, that you are gone...
I'm sad that I didn't get to spend any time with you over the past couple years, almost ten. I remember seeing you over grandma's house a lot. On weekends, for Friday night dinners. You were there, you were family. When people broke out the deck of cards, you were always up for a good game, and if you weren't playing and beating everyone, you were always eager to watch. You used to smoke a lot. I didn't like that so much, but everyone in your generation in our family seemed to smoke, so I can't really blame you.
Well, then a year before we left to America, I stopped seeing you. After catching on to the fact that you weren't around for extended family dinners, I started to wonder. I missed you, I wondered why such a frequent guest turned into a constant no-show. I was 11 years old. I asked about you, and all the adults crumpled their faces at me. They said, "oh," and "well," but no one really explained. With time I found out that you got into a big fight with grandma, or something like that, and since grandma was pretty much the only person who kept the family together, you were out. (I've always been a bit upset at Dad for not maintaining our connections to his side of the family).
I wanted to see you again, and I wanted to hear your hoarse voice again, and watch you sit around a deck of cards, and be in your company. But at 11 years old, I didn't know what to do. I let it be known that I send you my warmest regards and that I want to see you again, but the adults didn't ever make that happen.
But then we moved to America. And we only came back to visit the family for short two short visits, and I think things between you and grandma, your sister-in-law, still weren't so good, so I never got to see you. But all of a sudden, this past year grandma started talking about you over our occassional international phone calls. She said you were sick. You had a stroke, maybe a couple. You weren't doing well, that's what I remember. Apparently grandma finally came around, and in your last couple months of living, she decided to take care of you. I was happy about that, but sad that you weren't doing well, and sad that we hadn't seen each other in 9 years.
And then grandma called again. And she said you had a really bad stroke. It paralyzed you. You couldn't move. It took your voice from you. You were almost like a vegetable. The doctors told grandma that it was over, you couldn't even understand what people were saying to you anymore. Your brain was fried. But grandma vehemently disagreed with the doctors. She said the doctors were lying, and she brought the doctors and the nurses to your room in the hospital and started talking to you. "Hi, can you hear me," she said to you in front of the doctors. You blinked and tried to move your head. "Your hair is messy and it needs to be colored again. I will bring someone to fix your hair for you," my grandma continued. You tried to move your lips and nod your head, but you couldn't speak a word. Grandma took that as a sign that you were still alive and beating, and just as human as ever. The doctors said you were over.
But you weren't. You lived for a couple more months. But you didn't get much better. I don't think you could ever talk again. I don't think you could ever move again. All I remember is when I asked about you, grandma said that you weren't doing well... and that was that. And this past week you died.
I feel foolish writing this to you, because when I talked to my dad, your nephew, on the phone tonight, I told him that I have really fond memories of you. He was surprised for a second, thinking I was too young to even remember you. But I remember you. I remember you well, and I'm so sad you never had a chance to watch me grow up, and for me to watch you grow old.
I never knew much about you, but apparently you never had an easy life. You grew up in a pretty small town, but apparently just because everyone knows everyone doesn't mean everyone is nice to everyone. On the phone tonight dad blurted out that you had an abusive husband. I had never heard that before. You were always so full of happiness that I never thought you carried with you such a heavy burden. Dad hesitated when I exclaimed in shock. He mentioned that your husband used to beat you a lot, but then he changed the subject and we didn't talk about you anymore. I guess even though I'm 19, I'm still the kid, and the adults still feel like they have to shield me from the ugly.
Aunty, I'm going through a hard time right now. I know the fact that you're gone isn't a big change in my life since I hadn't seen you for almost half of my life. But somehow, knowing you're alive, I always clung onto the hope that we could still meet again some day. All the warm memories I had of you, I just wanted them to come to life one more time... The table covered with cards. The black coffee, the pistachios, maybe even the smoke that you could never let go of. Your deep voice, your generous laughter. Your big nose, and your heart that was even bigger...
I'm so sorry you're gone, and for the rest of my life I will miss you. I wish you had a better life while you were here on earth. I wish things could be simple and make sense. I wish I got to spend more time with you. I wish I got to say goodbye.
I will love you forever, and in my small, beating heart you will always remain alive.
Love,
Amir
I feel foolish writing this letter to you now. For one, it is just too late. You're gone. Secondly, you don't really know any English, so why am I writing this in English, even if you would ever get to read it..? English wouldn't help. Well, I don't know where to begin, so I'll just do my best to spew out whatever I'm thinking somewhat coherently.
I found out about your death earlier this week. Or maybe it was over the weekend, or late last week. I don't really remember. It was over an e-mail that my mom sent me, I think. But I was so busy, and wrapped up in my own little world, and my own problems, that I totally glossed over your death and didn't take a second to pause and think about what that meant. I'm so ashamed about that, I'm so sorry.
But tonight, after I had turned off the computer, and once I was ready to go to bed, thoughts drifted through my mind as they normally do before I end a day. You came to mind. And I stopped, and I gasped, and I realized what it meant, that you are gone...
I'm sad that I didn't get to spend any time with you over the past couple years, almost ten. I remember seeing you over grandma's house a lot. On weekends, for Friday night dinners. You were there, you were family. When people broke out the deck of cards, you were always up for a good game, and if you weren't playing and beating everyone, you were always eager to watch. You used to smoke a lot. I didn't like that so much, but everyone in your generation in our family seemed to smoke, so I can't really blame you.
Well, then a year before we left to America, I stopped seeing you. After catching on to the fact that you weren't around for extended family dinners, I started to wonder. I missed you, I wondered why such a frequent guest turned into a constant no-show. I was 11 years old. I asked about you, and all the adults crumpled their faces at me. They said, "oh," and "well," but no one really explained. With time I found out that you got into a big fight with grandma, or something like that, and since grandma was pretty much the only person who kept the family together, you were out. (I've always been a bit upset at Dad for not maintaining our connections to his side of the family).
I wanted to see you again, and I wanted to hear your hoarse voice again, and watch you sit around a deck of cards, and be in your company. But at 11 years old, I didn't know what to do. I let it be known that I send you my warmest regards and that I want to see you again, but the adults didn't ever make that happen.
But then we moved to America. And we only came back to visit the family for short two short visits, and I think things between you and grandma, your sister-in-law, still weren't so good, so I never got to see you. But all of a sudden, this past year grandma started talking about you over our occassional international phone calls. She said you were sick. You had a stroke, maybe a couple. You weren't doing well, that's what I remember. Apparently grandma finally came around, and in your last couple months of living, she decided to take care of you. I was happy about that, but sad that you weren't doing well, and sad that we hadn't seen each other in 9 years.
And then grandma called again. And she said you had a really bad stroke. It paralyzed you. You couldn't move. It took your voice from you. You were almost like a vegetable. The doctors told grandma that it was over, you couldn't even understand what people were saying to you anymore. Your brain was fried. But grandma vehemently disagreed with the doctors. She said the doctors were lying, and she brought the doctors and the nurses to your room in the hospital and started talking to you. "Hi, can you hear me," she said to you in front of the doctors. You blinked and tried to move your head. "Your hair is messy and it needs to be colored again. I will bring someone to fix your hair for you," my grandma continued. You tried to move your lips and nod your head, but you couldn't speak a word. Grandma took that as a sign that you were still alive and beating, and just as human as ever. The doctors said you were over.
But you weren't. You lived for a couple more months. But you didn't get much better. I don't think you could ever talk again. I don't think you could ever move again. All I remember is when I asked about you, grandma said that you weren't doing well... and that was that. And this past week you died.
I feel foolish writing this to you, because when I talked to my dad, your nephew, on the phone tonight, I told him that I have really fond memories of you. He was surprised for a second, thinking I was too young to even remember you. But I remember you. I remember you well, and I'm so sad you never had a chance to watch me grow up, and for me to watch you grow old.
I never knew much about you, but apparently you never had an easy life. You grew up in a pretty small town, but apparently just because everyone knows everyone doesn't mean everyone is nice to everyone. On the phone tonight dad blurted out that you had an abusive husband. I had never heard that before. You were always so full of happiness that I never thought you carried with you such a heavy burden. Dad hesitated when I exclaimed in shock. He mentioned that your husband used to beat you a lot, but then he changed the subject and we didn't talk about you anymore. I guess even though I'm 19, I'm still the kid, and the adults still feel like they have to shield me from the ugly.
Aunty, I'm going through a hard time right now. I know the fact that you're gone isn't a big change in my life since I hadn't seen you for almost half of my life. But somehow, knowing you're alive, I always clung onto the hope that we could still meet again some day. All the warm memories I had of you, I just wanted them to come to life one more time... The table covered with cards. The black coffee, the pistachios, maybe even the smoke that you could never let go of. Your deep voice, your generous laughter. Your big nose, and your heart that was even bigger...
I'm so sorry you're gone, and for the rest of my life I will miss you. I wish you had a better life while you were here on earth. I wish things could be simple and make sense. I wish I got to spend more time with you. I wish I got to say goodbye.
I will love you forever, and in my small, beating heart you will always remain alive.
Love,
Amir
