My daughter asked me the other day if I had any old photos of her in traditional Thai dance costume…so I searched. I searched through a box of old photos from the days before digital cameras and iPhones. The search took me very quickly through some fond memories of years gone by. Although no Thai dance costumes showed up, the search renewed some questions.
The family in this photo consists of my niece, Bow at the age of 3 or 4, her grandfather (my father-in-law) and faintly inside the house is my very pregnant sister-in-law. My father-in-law’s Thai name is Pom, which translates as ”Skinny”. Grandpa Skinny loved his grandchildren, and his children and the extended family. He showed compassion and kindness to everyone he met. Many years before this photo was taken he suffered from cancer in his mouth and tongue, and following surgery that lasted many hours he was sent home to spend his last few weeks. Being the stubborn man that he was, Grandpa Skinny spent his waking hours praying, asking God for a few more years. He lived for many more years and was there to help me begin to learn Thai and to settle into this new family.
Bow loved me, and wanted so much to be just like me. When she claimed that she didn’t like tomatoes she was told that I ate tomatoes and if she wanted to be just like me, she should also eat tomatoes. I wonder if she still eats them!!
Bow’s mom was pregnant 4 times, bringing each child to full term. Bow was the only child who survived birth. They lived in a small village in the south of Thailand—would any of these three children have survived if they lived in the city? It’s a good question, but one that nobody seemed to ask. At the time I was young and naive, and had no concept of how much anguish she must have experienced, and how that loss and grief would have affected her and Bow. There was no funeral or memorial service, probably because each child was still-born. Even though in Thailand Christians were buried rather than cremated (Buddhist believers were cremated), there was no grave for these children. Why didn’t I ask about this?
After my own brother, Ron, died at the age of 27 my mother shut down. She didn’t participate willingly in much for years, and we weren’t encouraged to talk about him, or about anything from the past. Finally after about 20 years we started remembering his life by sending mom flowers on his birthday. My children have produced some memory books for big celebrations, which have included photos of my brother. But, mom chose to not talk about him as it seemed to bring her too much pain. Dad would set up the Christmas tree on his own each year since mom didn’t even want to celebrate Christmas — it wasn’t worth celebrating without my brother. Now when we show her photos of Ron, she asks who he is. Is the dementia erasing even the memory of her favourite child?
Grandpa Skinny passed away 3 months after my first child was born. He did get to meet her on one of our trips to his home, while he was suffering from the prostate cancer that took him in the end. He blessed her with a Chinese name which was chosen before her birth just in case he didn’t make. A large framed photo of my father-in-law was placed in a prominent place in the living room of that humble home in the south of Thailand. He was talked about, and still is remembered lovingly. Why the difference? Is it because he lived a long full life, and my brother was in his 20s, and my 3 stillborn nieces or nephews had not even lived a day?
Reflections 