Yani and Ding
Cookies. I think I need to go down to the kitchen and bake cookies. I have not done that in so long, and some days, like today, I want nothing more than to steep in a space where, with a Martha Stewart recipe book in front of me, I can be assured that something perfectly simple and nice can be easy to come by.
That — baking, I mean — is but one on the list of many things that bring me solace, a list I am thankfully able to bring out when the day is hard. One day, I will share that list with you — there are constants, and there are variables, it is a way to be mindful of the many blessings that abound.
But tonight, as I write this, and right about now, I just need a promise that all will be well — for Yani’s three lovely girls, and the devoted husband she left behind, he who even till her last moments would go up to her sickbed, to say iloveyouiloveyouiloveyouikoveuou in rapid succession, as he always did when they were younger and she was still well and all was right in their world. In the same breath he would sing to her their theme song, The Nearness of You, as he always did — and, I suspect, as he still will many more times down the road, even without her by his side. It was heartbreaking to hear him tell that little part of their story, there at her wake, surrounded with flowers and the people who cared so much for her.
I wonder if Yani could hear Ding talk, and I so wish she could, even from another dimension, if only she could listen for herself just one more time how much he loved her. His eyes sparkled in remembrance of how they first met, how it was love at first sight for him. I never got to ask my cousin Yani if the latter was the same for her. It would have been nice to hear her side of the story, but there she was in her white coffin, smiling, beautiful, but lifeless. Completely healed, completely pain-free.
As I listened to Ding talk, I wondered if (and I wished it, too, for his sake!) she was maybe embracing him if only to lessen his pain, a pain that was so palpable even in a room full of loved ones who had gathered around. I prayed many times as he was telling us all these little stories, for the days (and years) ahead to be gentle for them. I am sure there are many Yanis and Dings all over the world every day — two people in love torn apart by death, and many other different circumstances, and it’s just painful to witness at any level. I guess it’s never easy, and maybe that is why tears are beautiful — they ease out, even for just a moment, some of the tightness in the heart, a tightness from that kind of pinch that only life’s pains can bring.
People will pray for them, messages will be sent, hugs will be given, a lot of love will be going around. None of these and even all of them combined will ever be enough, but maybe for now it’s how they — husband, daughters, all those Yani left behind --- will be able to get through the week.
As for me, I struggle gently with wanting to sleep but feeling I need to bake. If only to make the night go down better. Cookies will not cure anything. But they are nice to have when things get a bit rough around the edges.
