Loss

A childhood friend died suddenly of an illness last week.
She was one of my best friends in elementary school. I recall, easily, her smile, her voice, the way she talked. I remembered going to her house for a birthday get together (not many kids have birthday parties back then in Taiwan), and being in the band together. Last I saw her was probably on our graduation day over 20 years ago. And I didn't think of her much until last year, when we were all swept into a torrent of friend requests from long lost elementary school classmates. It was on a bright, sunny day when I saw my email account filled with friend requests from these long lost connections. Grown adult whose faces or postures carried hints of days of yore, but whose English names may give little clue as to who they were. I spent a good deal of time squinting at the tiny thumbnail profile pictures on my computer screen, trying to gather as many clues from the unfamiliar face in front of me to match up with the dusty images of children buried deep in my memory. Brows furrowed and eyes tearing up from hard use, there were many Eureka moments when a name was suddenly recalled, memories were polished and brought forth, and a face given context. Her face though, was not one that needed much effort to place. Even with an unfamiliar English name and a tiny thumbprint, I was able to recognize her in a glance. Still, with a gap of 20 years between us, the flow of old friend being known anew, and both not active status updaters, we never made direct contact. To know that we are connected by FB was somehow enough for me. I shouldn't have felt that way.
While whiling away the time nursing a flu-stricken child, I went online and was shocked to see RIP messages left on her wall. RIP, rest in peace. How? When? Not possible. No. I couldn't wrap my head around the idea of an old friend passed away. And yet it was real. I did not even know that she was sick. I obsessively went through her profile, read every message, scrutinized every photo, trying to make up for the chance that I missed to get to know a grown her. Where did she work? What was she like? How tall did she eventually grow to be? Did she still slouch like we both did when we were little girls? Was that picture taken in Boston Commons? Had she ever been in my neighborhood? I never get to hear her grown up voice, see her grown up feature, hear any story of hers. Now I never will. It was my own fault.
Carpe Diem, people say. Seize the day. Treasure those around you. Cherish health. Why does it always take a loss in such magnitude to shake people up?
Seize the day? Sure. To do what? Build new friendships? Reconnect with old ones? Hug your children a little more? Work a little harder toward a potentially fulfilling career? Enjoy life as if there is no tomorrow?
There are only 24 hours a day, and I am but one person with no answers. I make choices, and hopefully not ones that I will regret much later. These days though, I am regretting a choice I did not make, the choice of reaching out to her while I still had the chance. Now she is gone, and all I can do is think of her, and leave her messages on her wall, hoping that it would mean something.

"I'm in love"

Evelyn saw a boy asking a girl out on a date on TV the other day, and asked me what a "date" is. I told her it's how a boy and a girl spend time doing something together, getting to know each other, and they might eventually fall into love. She took this in, gave me a big smile, and told me that "I'm in love with Ryan," her best friend at school.
"Oh," I said, not fully sure how to react to this news.
"I'm going to marry him," she continued.
"Ah, really!" So many thoughts and feelings rushed through my head that I was at a lost for words.
"I'm going to marry him when I grow up," she fallowed up, giving me something to heave a big sigh of relief about.
"How old is 'grown up', Evelyn?" I asked. "16," she said.
"How about 26?" I suggested.

Evelyn's Valentine

Last week, we got a notice from Evelyn's teacher about Valentine's Day. The children will be making a Valentine's Day bag to be hung outside of the classroom. Whoever wishes to hand out Valentines to their friends are free to do so, but must give every children in the class one. Of course Evelyn would love to give out Valentines. That means Valentines for all 21 of her classmates. Now, one disadvantage of not growing up in the same culture and system that I am now raising my daughters in is that I have no experience in these things. I did not know that there are punch out Valentines that you can get in batches to be separated, signed, folded, and given out. My instinct was to make them. All 21 of them. So I went online and Googled Valentine's card ideas (no one mentioned punch out cards there, either), and picked one that I think should be easy to execute. It involves using a cookie cutter to cut out potato stamps to stamp out pretty pictures. It took us two days to complete the cards. Two days of frantic but restrained "Evelyn! Don't smear it!" and "Evelyn! Don't move until I get there!" and "Evelyn! Think before you do something!" By 8:30pm on Sunday night, we had all 21 cards made, signed (all by Evelyn) and ready to go. Evelyn had a blast stamping, making pictures, and signing her name. Her sister had a blast trying to taste painted potato stamps and getting her hands on paint brushes. And I survived with still some hair on my head.

These cards are by no means perfect; there are runny inks, water stains, and innovative word placements, but I can proudly say that Evelyn did most of the work. Not only that, but she did it without screaming, fussing, or giving up. I sincerely hope that her friends know to appreciate the effort that went into these cards!