That Funeral (and more)

Eye-Opening Moments are real-life stories of adversity, encounters, and perspectives intertwined. In this episode you will hear about That Funeral & Unkind Words.

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Chapters

• 0:22 Introduction
• 1:01 That Funeral
• 13:46 Unkind Words
• 19:55 Key Takeaways

Transcript

Hello and welcome to episode #161 of Eye-Opening Moments where you’ll hear stories of adversity, encounters, and perspectives intertwined. They are moments that can lift your spirits, give you some food for thought, or move you. For the introspective mind that likes to reflect, discover, and find solutions or meaning in a complex life, this is for you. I’m your host Emily Kay Tan. In this episode, you will hear about That Funeral & Unkind Words.

That Funeral
Grandma Betsy, who had terminal cancer, died. She had two sons; one was my uncle, and one was my father. One wailed, and one smiled at Grandma Betsy’s funeral. It puzzled me how two brothers could have two such contrasting reactions. I had neither reaction; I was out of sorts. Was I the normal one in this scene? The different responses gave me food for thought. How will others react when you or I die? Who will be sad? Who will be happy?

One son was at the podium giving a eulogy about Grandma Betsy. He lived with Grandma Betsy for many years, and when she was diagnosed with terminal cancer, he volunteered to take care of her in his apartment. He flew her from the east coast to the west coast, where he now lived. He had an extra bedroom for his mother, giving her a comfortable place to be. He spent much time in the living room where his home office was; he was self-employed with several employees. He hired help to assist Grandma around the clock. He was also nearby to check on her, kiss her, and say some sweet words more than several times a day. He was a good son, I think.

This son also invited me to visit Grandma Betsy as she laid on the bed day in and day out. He must have considered how bored she could be lying there all day for many days and months. I know I would have difficulty with it because I am quickly bored and can’t stand for it. Grandma Betsy must have been bored out of her wits, but what could she do in her condition? She was too weak to be up and about.

I took a bus and a train to visit Grandma Betsy on many weekends. It took an hour, but I was willing to do it. I wasn’t close to this grandmother, but because I was asked, I felt like I had family, and I desperately wanted some family in my life. I sat by Grandma on her bed. I didn’t know what to say to her. I struggled to find words. Being a shy girl for the greater part of my life, I always had a problem making small talk with others. Now, I felt saddled with trying to create dialogues. Grandma was too weak to talk much. She took my hand, and all I could do was hold her hand. She glanced at me every so often. I looked at her, trying to figure out what to say to a dying person. Twenty-something, I had yet to find my voice that dared to speak my mind. I was an introvert and not very sociable. I looked down, struggling to figure out what to do besides sitting there and holding her hand. 

The many times I sat there with Grandma, her son told me he appreciated it. I kept her company while he worked, alleviating some strain on him. I told him I felt useless because I wasn’t doing anything to help her. He assured me that it helped him and Grandma feel better.

When Grandma Betsy first arrived after her diagnosis, she could walk slowly for short periods. She said a few things to me. It let me know that she knew my place in the family. She knew Mom had outcasted me or made me the black sheep in my family. She knew they treated me unkindly or vastly different from my siblings. She didn’t say much about Mom, her daughter-in-law; she only said, “That is how she is; don’t mind her.”

When Grandma was near death and her other son showed up, Grandma had a few more words for me. More family members flew in to see her to say their goodbyes or to attend her impending funeral. Everyone took turns going to my grandmother’s bedroom to say a few words. I walked around the house, passing by Grandma’s bedroom. Amazingly, she saw me at the corner of her eyes and noticed me. She knew before I was even aware of what was going on outside her bedroom. Outside her bedroom, relatives were conversing and chatting away with each other while waiting their turn to see Grandma individually. I, on the other hand, was alone with nothing to do. 

Grandma’s daughter sat with her when Grandma saw me at the corner of her eyes. She told her daughter to go get me. Her daughter came out, and I went into the bedroom. Grandma Betsy’s last words to me at the time reminded me that she sympathized with my position in the family. Maybe it comforted me a bit. I was a bit sad when she left our world.

Grandma Betsy’s other son, who flew in when her last days were approaching, didn’t do much to care for Grandma. He didn’t show any sadness either. He appeared to enjoy the delicious food of San Francisco and enjoyed the sights he had seen before. Stopping by to see Grandma was but an obligatory duty to do so. He didn’t seem to care or show any feelings. I noticed it because he behaved so differently from his brother, who showed care and love for his mother.

Soon, Grandma Betsy died. Uncle Sheldon was at the podium giving a eulogy. He let out a loud and prolonged wail. It was so loud and prolonged that I thought a strange animal was nearby. I had never heard a human wail so loudly. It almost sounded like a roar, but it was so long and drawn out. The sound that came out of him puzzled me because I had never witnessed such a thing before. I wondered why he made such a loud and lengthy sound. I couldn’t comprehend it; it was foreign to me.

The people in attendance quietly sat while Uncle Sheldon, the one who took care of Grandma after her diagnosis, wailed. I stood by the doorway to the large room and found my dad, Grandma’s other son, in a sitting area a couple of feet away. He sat there leisurely in a single-seated chair cross-legged. Next to him in another comfy single-seater was Mom. She was laughing and talking with Dad. It looked like they were relaxed and enjoying good conversation while Uncle Sheldon wailed. Dad had a smile on his face. He looked happy. So did Mom. Maybe they were amused at Uncle Sheldon’s reaction to Grandma Betsy’s death, or perhaps they were happy for the death that had arrived. I never asked to know for sure, but I made up my own stories about how or why two brothers had such opposite reactions.

Dad and Uncle Sheldon are over fifteen years apart in age. Dad is the older one. Mother and son only had each other when Dad was growing up because Grandpa had moved to America, and it took a lengthy time before he could sponsor Grandma and Dad to America. That one piece of knowledge made me think that Dad was close to Grandma, and maybe they were, but that bond broke when he married Mom. If there was a bond, it was never repaired. I heard Grandma Betsy didn’t treat her daughter-in-law, my mom, well, so Dad distanced himself from his mom. Perhaps that can explain the scene in the small sitting area at the funeral hall. Maybe they were happy that Grandma Betsy had died, and they thought it was funny that Uncle Sheldon was wailing because they laughed. They were laughing at Grandma’s funeral. Tacky and heartless, I say.

Uncle Sheldon was not born until Grandma Betsy and Dad moved to America. It was then that Grandma and Grandpa reunited to have Baby Uncle Sheldon. Seeing how Uncle Sheldon cared for Grandma before her death, it puzzled me that they had such a close relationship. Of course, life was probably more comfortable and safe by the time Uncle Sheldon was born. I can’t be sure because I wasn’t born until nearly twenty years later.

Whatever happened between Uncle Sheldon and Grandma, their relationship was a good one, and it left my uncle wailing at her funeral. Whatever happened between Dad and Grandma, their bond broke. They never repaired it, leaving Dad relaxed and smiling at her funeral. I was distanced from Grandma Betsy because my parents made it that way, so I didn’t have much of a relationship with Grandma. However, months before her death, as an adult, I had the chance to spend more time with her. Though we did not talk much, she comforted me when I learned she raised me before age five and knew the dynamics of my family. 

Life before age five was erased from me. I could only guess it was due to amnesia or the trauma of being tossed over to Grandma Betsy before age five. I was shocked to learn that Grandma Betsy spent some time raising me because I had no recollection or any feeling of being bonded with her. If she didn’t tell me before her death, I would have never known!

Grandma Betsy’s death left me sad that I didn’t learn more about her when I had the chance to ask and talk with her. I can only chalk it up to being immature and clueless. I wasn’t brought to tears until over thirty years later when I reflected and recalled that last moment with Grandma Betsy. Maybe it took the older and wiser me to realize the meaning of Grandma Betsy’s words. “Don’t mind them, you matter. Don’t let anyone take away your importance,” she said. The mature me realized I had allowed the robbery to happen. And Grandma Betsy had indirectly told me to stand up for myself and stop the theft. 

My family, namely my mother, deemed me unimportant, and I considered myself insignificant, too. I unknowingly carried that perception with me all my life. The consequence was a miserable life lived. Grandma Betsy must have known. She tried to tell me; she wanted me to get her message. She wanted to say I was important and not let anyone say I was not. The twenty-something me did not catch her message and continued a life with low self-esteem. Fortunately, when I got older and became a writer, I realized the gift she gave me. Better late than never to have such an eye-popping eye-opening lesson now.

Much more confident today, I smile that I finally caught Grandma’s message. I define my value, and it is not for others to determine it. It is a precious gift that lifts my spirits and moves me to a brighter future.

When you or I die, what reactions do we want others to have? What will it mean about the relationships we had in life? What will it say about us as humans who once roamed the earth? I do not have an answer now, but it is much food for thought!

Unkind Words
I’m driving, and someone swerves and cuts in front of me, nearly bumping into me. I scream “F” you in my car. I am waiting to cross over to a street on the left of me, but I am waiting for oncoming cars to finish passing. A car behind me rear-ends me as if I was not in front of him, and he couldn’t wait for me to go first. “F you!” I holler. My boss disrespected and demeaned me; I rumbled inside and went home screaming, “F” you, “F” you; I hate you!” Like many others, I like to yell profanities when I am angry. The sparks inside me seem to dissipate after I huff the ugly words. I feel better afterward. Long ago, I learned I needed to hold my tongue from saying nasty words for a particular reason. However, I recently realized a more crucial reason to stop using vulgar language. If you think about it, you may well want to stop yourself before blurting out any unkind words!

One night, the twelve-year-old me needed to go to the bathroom, but Grandma was in it, and there was only one bathroom in the house. “Grandma, please hurry; I need to go!”  Grandma did not come out. I waited some more, but she still did not come out when I told her again. Feeling like I was about to dump in my pajamas and unable to hold it any longer, I said, “F” you; I need to go to the bathroom!” I fumed. Suddenly, Grandma bolted out the door and screamed at me. “You want to “F” me? You tell your grandpa you want to “F” me!” I was shocked that Grandma understood me because she didn’t know English, yet knew the “F” word! I was disgusted because I certainly didn’t mean the “F” word in the way she had interpreted it. I certainly didn’t want to “F” her or Grandpa; gross! I dared not say that word to Grandma again!

Sometimes, you might feel the need to relieve yourself by saying the F word or some other profanity. I found an excellent place to do it! The twenty-three-year-old me took a drama class. We could choose our scripts to act out. I was tickled to find one with profanity and immediately decided that was the one I wanted to do. It was about two roommates disagreeing. They were arguing and spewing profanities at each other with anger. I had fun acting it out, but my classmates sat with wide eyes looking at me. They were shocked to see a quiet, shy girl like me screaming profanities. Their reactions made me chuckle inside. I was happy for the chance to yell out vulgarity freely.

When I became a teacher, I needed to erase any foul language and stop myself from saying any out loud in front of my students. Fortunately, I was able to do so. However, occasionally, I’d wait until I got home and scream the “F” word because I was so angry at naughty children.

As teachers, we can’t use foul language, yet kids can feel free to say whatever they want. After some talking and discussion, it was time for my students to do some writing. Joey reacted, “What the F?”  Dusty made grunting noises, disturbing everyone from completing their writing assignment. I asked him to stop, and he didn’t. I told him the consequence was that he’d be last to go to recess. Dusty stuck a middle finger out at me and motioned, saying F you with his mouth in silence. I can only guess that he felt good doing it, just like I feel good to say the F word when I am angry. However, it did not feel good on the receiving end. It was disrespectful. I was not happy at being disrespected and that he had the nerve to treat me, his teacher, that way. Perhaps because he was a child, I didn’t take it to heart and didn’t realize the impact of the unkind words people say. However, the crucial reason to stop such language hit me when I watched adults doing it.

I watched videos of a former president bashing his opponent with name-calling and using negative adjectives to describe the person. He even made fun of the person’s name by saying it wrong. He hardly talked about the job at hand. He spent most of his time ranting, bullying, and attempting a character assassination filled with lies. It was hurtful, unkind and disrespectful. I was appalled and disgusted, but I digested the lesson to be learned.  

It may be fun or feel good to vent and get it out of your system when you are not satisfied with something to resort to name-calling, mean words, or profanity. But to be on the receiving end or to hear it, even if it is not directed at you, is demeaning and highly disrespectful to another human being. No one likes to be disrespected. So, the next time you have an urge to say unkind words to someone, please consider how it would feel if it were directed at you instead. We already have enough cruelty in the world; please add more kind words toward others!

Key Takeaways
Though Grandma Betsy passed away, she left me the most valuable gift – to know that I decide my worthiness, not others.

Though we may say unkind words in anger, we must remember that they are hurtful and stop them.

Next week, you will hear two real-life stories called The Child in Us & How I Became a Leader. If you enjoyed this episode of Eye-Opening Moments, please text someone and ask them what they think about this podcast, or go to www.inspiremereads.com and leave a message. Thank you for listening!