Lunar Love (83)
The magician Pó Po matchmade years ago jumped at the opportunity to take part. He quietly performs a dialed-down act in the corner of the chapel next to the casket. He reaches into the arm of his jacket and reveals a single white chrysanthemum. He does this one by one, handing everyone in the room a flower.
“Pó Po really would have loved this,” Mom whispers next to me.
“I wish she could’ve been here to see it,” I whisper back.
I take in the white streamers and silver balloons filling up the space. The room looks more like her ninetieth-birthday party, just as she wanted it to. I turn a hard candy with my tongue, the sugar dissolving slowly.
“The bitterness of the day is counteracted with the sweetness of the candy,” Auntie explained to me at some point in the past week.
I sneak a few more pieces of candy to try to offset the bitterness of life in general. It’s a tasty gesture, but it doesn’t work.
Hundreds of white, yellow, and pink lily and chrysanthemum flower arrangements are lined up in layers surrounding Pó Po. To the side of the flowers are baskets for food offerings. In them, I spot containers of rice, fruit, plastic-wrapped chicken, and pastries, gifts from the guests who offer these edible goods for Pó Po to take with her on her journey into the afterlife.
I’ve spent the past week learning about and executing traditions that I had never heard of before. While Nina stuffed small red envelopes with paper money and a quarter, which we’ll give to guests to ensure they get home safely and to spend and pass on the good luck and fortune, I put together white envelopes filled with candy that guests could consume once the funeral is over.
I look around at the crowd and spot Alisha and Randall. My heart bursts at the sight of them. Randall spots me first and nudges Alisha. Randall gives me a small wave while Alisha mimes a hug.
The funeral director clears his throat to command attention and breaks our gazes. He welcomes everyone and reads a brief biography of Pó Po, known to everyone else as June.
He doesn’t mention her contagious laugh, her sharp wit, her even sharper memory, or the look she gives after hearing about a successful match or tasting a spicy Pinot Noir but instead captures a loose essence of who she was generally, a kindhearted woman who spent her life in the service of others. To everyone, she meant something different.
The funeral director moves on to read selected poems and words about moving into the afterworld, the spirit life that sounds so far away, so unattainable, and so imaginary. I hear guests blowing their noses and wiping away their tears and watch others stare blankly ahead of them. Most, though, subtly glance lovingly over at Pó Po in the open casket, dressed in her favorite outfit, her cornflower blue vest and white polo, to look good in the afterlife.
Beneath Pó Po are two extra sets of clothing for her to use in the next life. These clothes, along with the blankets that Mom, Auntie, Uncle Rupert, Nina, and I will drape over Pó Po, will keep her warm and protected on her journey into the spirit world. We approach the casket one by one with blanket in hand, slowly covering Pó Po.
After Mom, Uncle, and Nina have their moments, my time comes. I approach the casket slowly, fearfully almost, even though earlier I mentally prepared myself for what to expect. Pó Po’s hair has been restyled in her usual permed curls, and at once I relax at the familiar sight of her. With her makeup and personal clothing, she looks like the Pó Po I’ve always known. I lift my blanket, being mindful to remember this moment, and gently layer it on top of Nina’s blanket.
“If you want to say something, now’s the time,” Mom says. “Auntie and I will say something at the end.”
I look out toward a mix of familiar and strange faces, finding comfort knowing that we’re all here for one purpose: to honor Pó Po’s memory and the life she led. I twist the dangling crescent moon around my neck.
Standing where the magician was just minutes ago, I address the group.
“June Huang was an extraordinary woman,” I start, my voice shaky. “Her legacy proves it. In all her stubbornness, for better or worse, she owned who she was. Her life wasn’t perfect or easy. She never expected it to be. But even in hard times, she kept going. She persevered. Life won’t ever be the same here on earth without her, but it brings me some comfort knowing that she’ll be working her magic in the afterlife and continuing to make others happy. Pó Po, we love you, and we miss you. It goes without saying that you’ve made this world a better place just by being in it.
“My love for you is fuller than the fullest moon,” I whisper to Pó Po, stealing one last look at her. Tears fall from my eyes onto the blanket. They absorb into the cloth, little pieces of me to accompany Pó Po on her journey.
I lift my pinky to her and imagine her linking hers with mine, our thumbs pressing together in unison. I want it so badly that I can feel the pressure against my thumb.
I make eye contact with Mae Yí-Pó in the group and say out loud, “Someone wise taught me that long lives are worth celebrating. So that’s what we’re going to do.”
I pull out my phone and tap Play on the first song on my moon playlist. The high opening jingle of King Harvest’s “Dancing in the Moonlight” floats out of the speaker.
Slowly shimmying my shoulders to the beat, I hold two sideways peace signs in front of my tear-filled eyes and pull them apart. I tap my foot and move my body to the rhythm.