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Last night, I went to Scott Funeral Home in Mississauga for the viewing (wake) of my Grand Aunt “Nana Daling” Magdalena who passed away peacefully at 11:10 AM on Oct. 3 at The Credit Valley Hospital. She was 95-years old. Yesterday morning, my Mom told me that she had died, but I would have known earlier had I read my Hotmail sent to me on Oct. 3 at 3:15 PM by my Mom’s first cousin, Aunt FM. Funeral mass was held this morning at St. Francis Xavier Church. She was buried at approx. 11:00 AM in Assumption Cemetery in Mississauga.

Sadly, her death casts a sombre mood on a joyous occasion - the upcoming wedding this Saturday of Aunt FM’s daughter, Gi. She had received the Anointing of the Sick last week and my relatives had thought that she was in full recovery. My second cousin, Ayi (Gi’s sister) had made arrangements for someone to stay with Nana Daling while my relatives and Nana Daling’s adopted daughter, Wil who is married to Nana Daling’s grand-nephew, Gil (Aunt FM’s son) would be departing this Friday for the wedding ceremony and reception in Montreal. No one in my immediate family can make it to the wedding.

Last night, I started thinking about family connections, specifically, how Nana Daling was related to me. The following scribble-scratch (click on the image below) is my feeble and probably wholly inaccurate attempt at mapping out an incomplete family tree:

I am related to Nana Daling through my Mom whose deceased father was a first cousin of Nana Daling. As my Mom recalls, Nana Daling wasn’t known for having a “warm” personality, which of course doesn’t mean she was a bad person. I met her for the first time when she immigrated from the Philippines to Canada about 7 (?) years ago. Since then, I’ve probably seen her on less than 10 occasions. I honestly can’t recall any of those encounters with great detail. I didn’t know her well and admittedly, I never felt any great need or urgency to get to know her or understand how she was connected to me, until last night, that is.

While I did feel the solemness of the wake, I did not cry or felt deep sorrow. I felt disconnected… like I was there but wasn’t there. It wasn’t because I wasn’t in touch with my feelings or that I was afraid to express them in public. I mean, I’ve been to a few funerals before for people I didn’t even really know and I remember weeping then. As I’ve said, I didn’t know her well. She wasn’t in my life nor was I in hers. She had been ill and housebound for several years. I wasn’t shocked when I was told she had died. Since she had only immigrated to Canada 7 years ago, I observed that most of the people who came last night weren’t close to her and had come out of respect for her family. Almost everyone she had really been close to are either in the Philippines or dead.

After the memorial words and Rosary were said, I offered my condolences to my relatives, looked at Nana Daling’s embalmed body lying in her open casket, and briefly said a prayer for her. I guess she looked at peace, but to be honest, her face was… so gray that I almost didn’t recognize her. I didn’t stare for long. I looked at the board with photos of her younger days, happy days with her husband who apparently was a university professor, family, recent pics in Canada, etc., but the ones that caught my eye were the faded black and white shots of her as a school teacher surrounded by her students. I remember whispering to my sister, “They should preserve these pictures. They’re heavily oxidized.” Anyway, it was only through those pictures when I realized that she had been a school teacher. Ten minutes later, I heard a woman beside me say, “Oh, I didn’t know she was a school teacher.” Yeah lady, me neither.

Photos connect a person to the past and people. Sadly, my own family doesn’t have many photos of our years in the Philippines because my parent’s photo collections were left behind and destroyed in floods. I think I was in my late teens or early 20’s (?) when I had finally seen some photos of myself as a baby and young girl (oh, I was SO CUTE but apparently had a disproportionately big head with lots of hair), shots of my sister as a child, and very faded, sepia-toned photos of my parents, my Dad’s mother, the sister of my Mom’s mother, etc… It had been an eye-opening revelation back then. Connections.

Speaking of connections, my Uncle Beb, his wife, my cousin and her 2-year old daughter (respectively, the latter two are my favourite cousin and niece) were present at the wake. I also saw Gil and Wil’s precocious, young daughter Pat for the first time. Uncle Beb is a younger brother of my Mom. They have neither seen nor spoken to each other in over 8 (?) years due to an argument and cumulative transgressions on my Uncle’s part. I can say that with honesty and no bias because I was there when they fought. My Uncle is infamously known for hurting and alienating everyone he meets, including his own 2 sons, daughter and wife. Anyway, the wake and burial service forced my Mom and Uncle Beb to acknowledge each other’s presence. I highly doubt the encounter will lead to a full reconciliation.

Incidentally, my Mom was also deeply hurt by my Aunt FM and her family because they never visited or supported her emotionally (i.e. a sincere, unhurried phone call) when my Dad and sister were undergoing a kidney transplant this past March. My wonderful Mom is an EXTREMELY GIVING Christian (sometimes to the point of being a doormat, I would say) and understandably, she was hurt when she needed support and they weren’t there for her. My Mom said that during the burial, my Aunt FM was effusively saying, “Sorry, sorry, sorry.” Again, I don’t know if that will lead to a full reconciliation because… words are just words.

When I got home, I felt a little instrospective and sad. It wasn’t because I started feeling the loss. Last night… connected me to memories of a difficult time when I thought that I might lose my father or sister during the kidney transplant. Last night… connected me to memories of when I promised myself, my father and my sister just before the transplant that I would live a more purposeful, responsible and meaningful life. Last night… connected me to heated words exchanged with my father just a few days ago about his valid concern of the choices that I had recently been making (or not) about my life. I had acted defensively, but deep down I knew that my father’s angry words were sincere and rung true. Last night… forced me to remember and renew that promise that I had made over 6 months ago. I wrote this post because I wanted to remind myself of how short life truly is… and that I might not have all the time in the world to fulfill that promise. What’s that saying? Live your best life each day as if it were the last day?

Nana Daling, rest in peace. Sorry, I didn’t shed a tear, but as the old saying goes… blood is thicker than water. Nana Daling, God bless you and say hello to my grandfathers, grandmothers, cousins and everyone up there who is connected to me. But then again, aren’t we really all connected?

Adieu,

Instrospective fruity

P.S. Unless I’ve been given permission, I never use real names of people or companies in my posts or I avoid mentioning them, if possible. The only real name in this post is “Nana Daling” Magdalena. Nana = term of respect, Daling = her nickname, Magdalena = her first name. I’ve used names that are “close” to the real names (so I don’t confuse the heck out of myself if I ever read my musings in the future).