Everything reminds me of you, working through the process of losing her husband, translated…
In order to take care of my ill husband, I’d stayed in this country for eight, nine years on end, never set food outside of this country. Two months after he’d died, my younger sisters planned a trip for me to Pusan, with my second youngest sister and, my fourth youngest sister to keep me company. Before I went, my son bought a brand new luggage for me, hoped that I can start anew. The digits for the combination lock was 321, and he’d lined his aunts, that if I forgot, to have them remind me.
Forgetting the digits of 321? My sisters were, laughing their butts off. On the day I set out, my son insisted on seeing me off in the entrance of the Airport MRT systems, and asked his aunts, to put up with me, who’d, closed myself in for years on end; seeing how thoughtful my son was, my two sisters were, very moved, as my son left, my fourth youngest sister stared at me, “Why do you still keep your son worrying over you?”
Actually, my son’s worries weren’t, unwarranted, he just feared, that I may, repeat the past. Many years ago, as I went on a trip to Australia with my husband, all of a sudden, I was, drawing a blank on the combination locks, I was, stressed out, sweating like crazy, thankfully, however, my husband had his Swiss Army knife, he’d, opened the luggage up for me, in no time at all. But now, my MacGyver was gone, if I’d, fouled up, what should I do?
And, my son’s worries came true. On the third evening, I just, couldn’t open up my luggage. My second youngest sister was, staring at the T.V., mumbling to herself. After my fourth sister came out of the showers, as she was, drying her wet hair, “Are you serious? You’d forgotten the lock, 321?” “It’s not about the combinations, the locks were, jammed.” I was getting furious, started screaming, defended myself, and, came the two streams of tears, down my cheeks, and, I was, reminded of my personal MacGyver, he was, intelligent, and smart, can solve ANY problems for me, with him, I’ll be, without any worries, but, he’d gone, left me, all alone here………my heart wrenched, and, tears overflowed again.
My sisters saw, and, rolled up their sleeves, and tried it out, but, the combination locks won’t even budge at all, could it be, a woman not being strong enough? My fourth youngest sister called up the reception, and, there came, a Korean young lad, he too, couldn’t get it opened up no matter how hard he’d tried, in the end, he picked up the tools, was about to, slam down on the lock to break it, I’d hugged tight onto the luggage, and told him to go away, it was, my son’s gift for my new life, I would not allow him to break it! I’d cried sporadically on and off for a bit, the anger got the better of me, I’d LINED my son in Taiwan, and, started, ranting out at him: it’s all your fault, you shouldn’t have bought this new suitcase; it’s you, you shouldn’t have used a combination lock; it’s all you, you shouldn’t have, encouraged me to go abroad!
My son made four online phone calls, which I’d, not picked up. My fourth youngest sister sighed on the side, “What did he do wrong? Why are you, getting angry at him like this?” Being unreasonable, yup, that’s, me all right! Because I was, reminded of my husband, I was only, using the luggage, as an excuse, I’d had to, find a righteous reason for my tears to come out reasonably!
After I got tired of crying, it was, late, my younger sisters were all asleep, there’s, no other way, I dragged that luggage down to the lobby, to that young Korean lad, to get him to, CRACK open my suitcase, and, bumped into a man from the same tour group. He saw me in tears, and asked what happened, and then, he’d told me, that he was, a mechanic, that a small lock such as the one on my suitcase is considered easy, and had me hand him my house keys as a tool, he’d twisted left, and then right for a bit, and, it’d, opened. Another MacGyver, it’s, as if, I saw that MacGyver of our house from years ago, squatting down on the floors, focused, on the locks, working, to open them, and, I’d started, crying once again.
damn, forgot the combination code! Not my photograph…
I’d sent a note of apology to my son, and, immediately, right after I’d sent it, “Read” popped back up, he must’ve, waited for me for too long, he’d sent a short reply, that made me, cry like hell. My husband knew how stubborn I was, and, asked my son, to put up with this remaining mother of his before he died, my son did it. But my fourth youngest sister said, that I’d, lived my life in vain, that my EQ was, declining by the day, “So what?”, I’d rebutted, “So long as my son’s EQ is high enough!”
So, this, is how something can initiate the response for grief, the woman lost her husband, and, this was, her first trip out, and, she still hadn’t, gotten over her husband’s death yet, which was why, she’d taken her sorrow-turned-anger out on the suitcase, and that, is still, normal, for someone who’d lost someone whom she loved dearly, it’s all a part of the process, anger-denial, bargaining, etc., etc., etc., then finally comes, ACCEPTANCE, remember???