I thought of my aunt today. My mother's sister, they could not be more different than night and day. I thought of her today; of how the last time we spoke, she held the phone to the wind, letting me hear the sound of the ocean waves crashing onto the shore. She was on vacation with her son and husband, their first trip together as a family in nearly a decade. I have to be really careful now, careful to never mention the words "Florida" and "Daytona Beach" so carelessly around my mother, who is still hurting, never to fully recover from her loss.
We lost my aunt to the sea that year. Painfully. Very unexpectedly. My cousin was eight at the time, and I always wonder, and pray, that he isn't still traumatized by the experience. He is such a courageous little boy. He has grown up to be such a little gentleman. I cried and held him when he recounted the story no one wanted to hear but needed to know.
I couldn't stop crying at her funeral. It was the first time I had lost someone so close to me, someone whom I cared for and loved and cherished and appreciated, with all my heart and soul. We had our differences, but what difference does it make when you don't get to hold them close anymore?
Ai-ai-gasa. Love-love-umbrella. While we carve out hearts and initials on trees, the Japanese declare their love on umbrellas. Umbrellas will shield you from the sun and keep you warm and dry from the rain. Rain or shine, they will save you when you need it the most.
You gave me so much when you were still in this life, Co Trang. I wish we were all there to protect you that day.
As Rihanna says, to let you stand under my umbrella.
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