She Was A Pistol
March 24th, 2009

My Aunt died last Thursday evening. I did not find out till late Sunday evening on my way back from a holiday in Vancouver, Canada. I was not able to attend the Memorial Service because I was still out of the country.
My Aunt did things her way. She left her homeland of Korea in order to escape the mediocrity of what she thought her life would become if she stayed there. She was strong willed, opinionated and often times sharp tongued. This probably would have ended up disastrous for her if she ended up becoming a traditional Korean housewife. She wasn’t one to mince words or take direction.
She came to America with hopes of a better life – like all immigrants who are brave enough to leave everything that they know. Sadly, things did not happen as she had planned – there was divorce, heartache, complacency and disappointment. Nonetheless, she swallowed her own bitterness and poured much of her efforts into helping to raise my brother, sister and I. She treated us like her own and gave me the only motherly love that I knew.
It was hard to see her in those last days. Though she was lucid, she was in great pain at times. One of the last things that she said to me was, “You’re beautiful.” If you knew her, you’d know that compliment rarely passed through her lips. She was critical at times and that was the only time that I have ever recalled her saying something like this ever. I’ll never forget it.
When I last saw her, she was asleep from the morphine used to ease her pain. I never got to say that last goodbye before I left. I never got to say, “I love you” one last time. It’s hard to think about.
*****
I turned 35 today. Yep, it’s my birthday and I am grieving. Today I could give a fuck about what the scale says or if I make it as a writer or if I get anything accomplished. I can hardly write. I can hardly breathe.
Today, I am going to feel bad, because it feels bad right now.
But tomorrow will be different and I am looking forward to it.
Tags: gomo
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