Fourth Uncle

An anniversary is the turning of a year, and this turning for us happened on 2 February 2020 when we through luck and perseverance boarded a flight and returned to New Zealand from the virally Problematic Republic of China. The memories of this time were interesting because we were really concerned about whether New Zealand would close its borders even to citizens and residents. For all the lost enjoyment and quality time in rush to find an earlier flight back, our original flight was cancelled and we were put on an earlier flight as a matter of course. We arrived back to pre-lockdown Auckland and enjoyed the limbo of self-isolation, the delivered groceries, the walks and drives around the block, the reading and watching from afar.

That trip back was only with immediate family of in-laws and I did not get to see or spend time with any of the uncles. Fourth Uncle had been unwell just before our trip back in 2019 but had gotten partially back to health by the time we visited. He was my Qingyuan favourite uncle because he was always so positive and curious, greeting me warmly from the start and asking questions and engaging. He died last month. It was a brief illness, which the doctors could not really diagnose yet asked for a pile of money for treatment for. There was the Chinese equivalent of give-a-little. Then the message not long after that it had gotten much worse. Then it was the rush to get him home to at least say goodbye. But even those in the neighbouring villages, let alone us, would have got there in time. 

I still recall the first time I met him in 2011: my brother-in-law was getting married with a multi-day festivity of food and wine. I got to know all the aunties, helped with peeling the lotus roots, watched the geese getting slaughtered and generally drank in each round of the banquet. I had gone up stairs to accompany the awkward parents of the bride - I only understood why they were awkward later, a tale for another time - but mainly to cool off after drinking so much. After a stilted conversation, my wife came up and mentioned relatives from her family had come and wanted to see me. It was Fourth Uncle and his three nephews, my cousins-in-law, and upon my arrival they spoke quickly and keenly in the accent of a village one hour walk away, a form of Cantonese I still cannot follow well. But Fourth Uncle was smiling and fine to surmount any language barriers to make a friend. And pour that friend a full glass of moonshine rice-wine and drink it till it was empty and fill that glass back up again.

There have been plenty of stories of the people dying alone, or families not being able to see their loved ones' last hours, or the dread of not being able to fly in and/or out to spend precious time. I am lucky that besides a brief family health emergency, Fourth Uncle is the only one that I have had that horrible feeling for. We couldn't see him last year. And we couldn't see him at hospital for his end. All I can do is remotely raise a glass and drink in his memory. And just writing that I think perhaps I should follow custom and cast some alcohol on the ground to return his previous kindness in his afterlife.