Dear Mae

Dear Mae,

I still remember the morning after.  We had just left a wedding, somewhere north of the outer reaches of Toronto, and before driving home we stopped at Tim Horton’s—the most Canadian place on earth.

It was Sunday morning and Timmy’s was packed. The line snaked around the tiny seating area and most people (myself included) looked like they had just rolled out of bed.  But, not you...

People whispered to each other, looking over at us furtively, as we walked through the double doors.  You wore a bright red dress, the kind that you might see at a bachelorette party or at a night club. It was tight-fitting and adorned with lacy detailing across the bottom and top.  Your stiletto pumps tick-tocked across the floor as you sashayed through the mass of people waiting in line. A family exchanged a silent look as if to say, “I can’t believe she’s wearing that…” 

But, you didn't care what anyone else was doing or thinking.  You were smiling, full of energy, and happy.  After all, you had packed two dresses! Even though this one didn’t make the cut for the wedding, you weren’t about to let that rob you of the chance to rock it.

Over the next several years, I’d come to love this about you: You were totally comfortable in your own skin.  You didn’t care what people said or thought about you.  I know it’s a cliché of sorts, but you were perhaps one of few people I’ve ever met who truly—in all of their being—marched to the beat of their own drum.  You were a beautiful, sassy lady who was above all else, true to herself.

And it wasn’t just that you always dressed to the nines, either. You spoke your mind freely, even if this rubbed some people the wrong way.  Like those times when you’d send back food to waiters, complaining that it was undercooked, needed more salt, or wasn't made of the best ingredients.  You’d make a face, furrowing your brow and stick out your tongue, as if the food had caused you to gag. And you’d announce to everyone within earshot, “Ew!” Sometimes this made it hard for us to all go out places, especially when we knew—as you’d often remind us—that your food was better!

But, you weren’t just critical. You loved others deeply and openly. Sometimes Vanessa and I joked that you could never just go somewhere. A quick trip to the grocery store would turn into a little mini-saga.  You'd disappear in the aisles and we'd find you chatting it up with the baker, a store clerk, or even a random shopper.  You'd leave the store with new friends.  Like us, they too were drawn to your precious light.

And you always welcomed me into your family.  I still remember the time when you, me, and Pai met up at the Whole Foods.  You must have known what I was going to ask, because as I launched into my little spiel about “Loving your daughter with all of my heart,” your eyes lit up.  Pai rubbed the bottom of his chin and stared off into the distance, as if he was caught off-guard.  “I would like to know if I have your blessing to ask for Vanessa’s hand in marriage.”  You jumped all over this and squeezed my hand in excitement. And as Pai mulled all of this over, you scolded him loudly, “O Isidro! He’s already part of the family!” 

*

The past few years have been very hard.  I still remember that sad phone call when Vanessa got the news that you had been diagnosed with breast cancer.  It hit us like a ton of bricks.  She called crying with the news. 

And then things got worse. The oncologist told you that you had a very rare form of breast cancer that had spread to your liver.  Now it was Stave IV.  It was more serious.

We had all thought that the treatments might slow you down, but the opposite happened.  You fought back with a renewed determination.  You refused to let cancer define you. You lived your life on your terms.  

Immediately after undergoing chemotherapy, you’d walk around the house and clean. Then you’d cook up a feast.  And then, you’d run errands or go to Zumba with Vanessa.  Or, you'd trek down to Florida and enjoy the sunshine and beach.  Sometimes we’d all sit around wondering how you managed it all.  How come you weren’t phased?  Why weren't you slowing down?

And for a long while, we all believed—in spite of everything—that you were going to get better.  The CT scans showed positive results.  The size of the tumors were localized and had stabilized.  And you were so full of energy, living your life to the fullest, while wearing the snazziest clothes.

One of my favorite memories is of a day when we all went to get pizza from Pizza, Pizza.  It was the dead of March and the sun hadn’t been up in a few days.  We crowded into Vanessa’s Kia, fighting through blizzard-like conditions to go pick up the pizza (which you had critiqued for their use of cheap ingredients).  You could sense that I was in a bad mood and asked,  “What’s the matter, Joo?” I mumbled something and looked back.  There you were, sitting in the middle seat, smiling ear to ear. Your eyes were beaming.  And in that moment, I felt the light that you shared with everyone around you. You were fighting for your life and still smiling!

I’ll always remember that day—and the subsequent years you lived.  I never once heard you complain about the raw hand you had been dealt. You didn’t even let on when you were in pain, even as the oncologist and palliative doctors prescribed stronger medications. In spite of everything, you lived as you always had lived—full of joy and gusto. 

I’m going to miss you so much, Mae.  These words can’t really capture how I’m feeling. But, they’re the best I got.  I’m going to miss your laugh, the kind that came from deep down inside your soul—and sometimes made you snort.  I’m going to miss you getting frustrated with Vanessa and Pai, as they tried to cook or clean to your impossible standards.  You’d march into the kitchen, looking over their shoulders, critiquing what they were doing and how they were doing it, and eventually you’d take over.  I’m also going to miss hearing you tell me stories about your life in Bombarral or the ingredients that you'd use whenever you'd cook us delicious feasts.  You’d run through them like a food critic, telling me how you'd only use the best bacalhau, or pick the freshest apples, or get the finest Himalayan salt.  I’m going to miss these and so many other things about you—you are irreplaceable, the strongest and most determined person I've ever known.

And my heart is broken that you won't be here to celebrate future milestones.  I wish you could have been here to greet our child, if we are so blessed in the future. But I know deep down that you are watching over us with God.  Til we meet again, I will do my best to be deserving of Vanessa’s love.  I promise to be loving and patient—even as she harps on me about not cleaning up, or as she gets over-dressed for occasions (she is, after all, your daughter 😉). I also promise to help Pai, as he sometimes seems lost without you. You two modeled a great marriage—as you always made up and found time to laugh. 

You brought joy, laughter, and happiness into all of our lives.  You were a beam of light and showed us that the only way to be is totally, completely, and unapologetically yourself.  We were all blessed to have known you.  You were one of a kind, Mae, and you’ll never be forgotten.

Love Always,

Joo