“Your memory is a monster; you forget – it doesn’t. It simply files things away. It keeps things for you, or hides things from you – and summons them to your recall with a will of its own. You think you have a memory; but it has you!”   John Irving

Sometimes the things we want to forget are the things we strive to remember later.  During the last few weeks of my mom’s life, things were very difficult and stressful.  There were some days that I just wanted to forget.  While it was hard, I did manage to bury some memories deep in the crevasses of my brain.  Lately though, I want to carefully dig up these old memories.  I don’t know what is prompting me to do this.  Although thankfully it is not an obsession. 

Maybe I want to find out if I did everything I could.  I know my brother and sister did a yeoman’s job helping.  Did I pull my fair share of the weight?  So is it guilt that is driving this?  I don’t know but I doubt it.  It’s just that looking back, there are some blurry memories and gaps.   

Perhaps over time, these will slowly come back.  Until then, I’ll wait patiently. 

I was chatting with my aunt who came back from a brief visit to Hong Kong.  She told me they spent one day visiting the cemeteries to pay respects to her parents, an older sister and other members of the family that have passed on.  She went with her brother who took her to each gravesite.

In an instant, I remembered the first time I visited Hong Kong as an adult with my cousin.  My uncle took my cousin and I on a similar tour to pay our respects.  We purchased flowers along the way and my uncle patiently took us to every relative that he knew.  The cemetery was on a side of a large hill so there was a lot of climbing and walking.  One of the graves we visited was my uncle’s dad.  He was also named Matthew.  I found out later he got baptized in the last days of his life and was buried in a Catholic cemetery. 

My uncle told me that my Uncle’s dad adored my mom when mom was just a child.  She was his favorite.  I made some rough notes of where his grave was and also those of my grandparents.  I returned to Hong Kong a couple of years later and visited the cemetery on my own.  My mom wrote down the cemetery’s name in Chinese so any taxi driver could get me there.  I found my grandparents but couldn’t find my uncle’s dad despite my notes.  I walked around and around and was a bit disappointed.  I still had some of the pink carnations from the ladies who sold them to me by the entrance.   I was talking to myself (not out loud) and I think I said something like – where are you?  I absentmindedly took a couple of steps and looked down.  His grave was right in front of me.  I smiled and placed the flowers there.  It was almost as if he was somehow directing me.  My mom laughed when I told her the story. 

Years later, my sister was traveling on business and she visited the cemetery as well.  She told me she found our grandparents and when she walked around she saw my uncle’s dad’s grave.  She didn’t know about my story.  My uncle had an unusual family name so she took note of it.  When she returned, she told my mom about her discovery.  My mom was pleasantly surprised and explained who he was.  The grave is a bit off the path.  She told me she just somehow stumbled on it. 

I’ve always thought this was more than a coincidence.  I don’t have those notes about the cemetery anymore.  I wonder if I will be able to find his grave again the next time I visit Hong Kong?

/* edit:

These are snippets and slices of memories.  They all happened on different time and are too small individually for an entry but too big for a pulse.   So I just tossed them all together here.

1)  I was trudging along the sidewalk on a snowy gray afternoon.  An elderly lady was walking her dog was just ahead of me. I slowly overtook them as the small dog sniffed and peed on a snow bank.  As I slipped past them, I heard her quietly say “Oh Fi Fi, you have snow on your pee pee.”  I discreetly glanced back.  She had just picked up the dog and was gently brushing away the snow between the dog’s legs.  I quickly turned around  to allow Fi Fi to salvage its dignity. 

2)  Dad is opening his Christmas gifts.  It’s a large gift wrapped book and he was slowly tearing off the paper.  With each reveal, he would say things like “Oh, this is lovely.  This is great.  I really like it.”  When all the wrapping was finally off, he looked at the book and said “What is it?”  My brother and I did everything we could to stifle our laughter. 

3)  I’m in a dimly lit pub in Amsterdam many years ago writing postcards, checking out my guidebook and nursing a drink.  It’s early afternoon and there some guys are at the bar near my table.  I continue to write while they chat softly.  One of them calls out to me and asks me where I’m from.  I tell him I’m from Canada.  He waves me over and introduces his friends.  It’s mostly small talk – what I’ve seen, his recommendations etc…  he waves the bartender over and I order another drink.  He asks me if I have a girlfriend.  I said “No.”  “No? Why?”  I can’t remember what I said.  But he looks at me and asks me to come a bit closer.  I lean forward out of the shadows into the dim overhead  light.  He looks at me and says “Well, you’re not ugly.”  I pause for a second and we both laugh.   We chat a bit more and he eventually leaves.  We nod and exchange polite goodbyes.  I finish up my postcards and journal and pack everything away into my knapsack.  I get out some money for the bartender.  He waves me away and said the other guy had paid for my tab.  I smile and hope that the rest of my trip will be like this. 

4)  We arrived home last night from another big Christmas dinner.  Dad was already asleep in the car – his tummy full of turkey, stuffing, mash potatoes, yams, cheese, crackers and some wine.  He stumbles into the living room and turn on the TV.  I go into the kitchen and clean up some of the dishes that are in the sink.  I go out and check on him.  He’s snoring on the couch already.  I grab a throw from his bedroom and carefully drape it over him.  He wakes up and I quietly tell him that I’m just covering him up.  He closes his eyes and drifts off again.  I stood there and remembered a childhood scene.  Every night, he would make a check on us every night and adjust our blankets to make sure we were tucked in.  I was always a light sleeper and would wake up when I heard him coming in.  It was always comforting and I never had any trouble drifting off to sleep again.  

Memories can be funny sometimes.  It gets triggered when you least expect
it. 

I was cutting tofu the other day for my soup.  Normally I just put it on a plate or the
cutting board and get on with the job. 
But the other day, I held it on my hand and diced it with a knife.  The tofu is soft so I knew I wouldn’t cut
myself.  In a flash, I was back in my mom’s
kitchen in Manila.  She was holding the tofu in one hand and
cutting it with the other.  I asked her “Won’t
you cut your hands?”  She grinned and
said “No, watch carefully.  You just stop
when the knife reaches your hand.  Just do it slowly and carefully.”  She
lowered her hands and let me watch closely as she sliced the tofu. 
I turned my head to make sure I saw the knife reaching her hands.  She slowly retracted the knife from the tofu and
continued cutting it cross wise to make small cubes.

I paused and smiled as the memories came back.

* * *  

My bf called me tonight to watch a show on CBC.  It was a documentary called “Tailor Made”.  I’ve seen parts of this before so it was good
to take a break from work and watch the parts I haven’t seen.  It’s a pretty good documentary.  You can also read a bit more about this last
tailor (custom made suits) in Vancouver’s Chinatown here. 

While watching it, I remembered the very first suit I got to
look for a job.  It was from a small store in
my neighborhood.  I knew one of the guys
who worked there part time.  I went in
and explained to the owner that I was looking for a suit for job interviews and
hopefully to wear when I got a job.  I also didn’t have a lot of money so I wanted something affordable. 

He spent a lot of time with me and steered me towards a wool
navy blue suit.  It wasn’t the most
expensive suit – sort of a middle of the line. 
But he explained that it was flexible. 
He showed me the many different colors of shirts and patterns of shirts
that would go well with the suit.  He
also picked out a tie for me – burgundy rep tie with stripes running diagonally
across.  One of the colors of the stripes
was the same blue of the suit.  He walked me to the window and explained that sunlight is the best light to look at colors of clothing.  The artificial lights can sometimes give a different shade of color.  He
showed how the color of the tie would complement the suit and how the blue stripe would also pick up (match) color of the suit.  This would help pull it together.  When I came back a week or so
afterwards to pick it up, he asked if I knew the proper way to sit down.  I shrugged and just sat down on a chair.  He then told me to watch as he sat down.  He gently pulled his pants up (perhaps an inch or so) as he was sitting down. He explained that by doing so, it reduces a lot of the stress in the fabric by the rear (the bum). 

Well, back to work.  I just remembered that I have to finish reading this document for tomorrow.  

I’ve been spending a lot of time at my dad’s place during the summer helping him clean the basement after it got flooded from a drainage problem.   It really hasn’t been cleaned in
years and  the basement  was simply being used for storage.  We had to move all the furniture and stuff into another part of the basement so that the contractors could do their repairs.  But before we could do that, we had to clean out a lot of stuff to make room.   My dad isn’t one to
throw away magazines, books and the numerous newspaper clippings.  Mom kept lots of stuff too – just in case we
needed it again.  Both grew up in the war
where you simply don’t throw things out. 
So I understand the emotional need to hang on to things.  It was tough gathering some of my mom’s
clothes and getting them bagged for donation.  What got me was the smell of the clothes.  I swear I could still smell her but maybe my mind was playing tricks on me.  We also carefully sorted
through her old paintings.  She was a
very talented painter.  I marveled at her
skill.  As a child I would watch her arrange her rice papers, prepare the various inks.  The only time I could help was washing her brushes.  As she got older, her arthritis made it impossible to paint anymore.  But she never complained. We moved all of her paintings upstairs and the rest of her papers and brushes went to my brother’s place and my condo. 

Dad couldn’t bear to see us throwing or donating so many things.  From time to time, he would come down to see what was going on.  My sister or my brother would take turns shooing him back upstairs.  He was in agony when he saw some of the things
being  hauled away.  He was particularly worried that we
would throw out his books and magazines.  I made several trips to my bf’s
place with boxes and boxes of books.  I assured him that I wasn’t throwing out his books. 

Later I sat down with him and told him he has too many books and magazines.  He’ll need to make some tough decisions on what to keep and what to donate.  I tried to tell him that others could make use of these books and it wasn’t doing anything just sitting in the basement.  I encouraged him to start thinking of which ones he could donate.  His lowered his eyes and told me softly that he doesn’t have any friends or close relatives anymore and these books are his companions right now.  I swallowed hard and looked away.  I mumbled something but those softly spoken words hit me very hard. 

The basement is all repaired now with new carpets and walls.  His book cases are back up and it’s jammed full.  He knows he still has many, many books that are in boxes.  He reminded me about the books at my bf’s place.  I told him I will bring them back little by little but he needs to make room for them. 

I’ve been thinking how to clean up all of his things when he passes on.  Right now, it’s easy for me to decide that his books will be donated or sold off.  But I know when the time comes, it won’t be easy for me to part with his friends.