He once attended an old woman's funeral in the old quarter. During his lifetime, she lived lonely in a level-4 house, sitting every day leaning against the door, rummaging through grains waiting for her children. She always defended their absence: "They are busy, they will probably come home on the weekend". But that "weekend" rarely happened. The day she died, the house was packed with people. Wreaths covering the walkway were like late apologies wrapped in cellophane. Children and grandchildren in proper mourning clothes, sobbing about their mother's immense merits. But the person lying there would never hear again.
The paradox is that people are often good at mourning when everything has slipped away. When someone is still present, they become part of a habit; something we believe is always available. A call, a meal, a word of concern are all delayed by appointments "for another time". We are not evil, just too complacent with the two words "yet to be done".
A female friend of his shared that the biggest obsession after his mother passed away was not the moment of separation, but the long gaps. There were times when she was eating rice, she suddenly tried to pick up the phone to tell her mother a funny story, and then was shocked to remember that there was no one to answer that call anymore. Loss is not only the absence of a person, but the disappearance of things we once considered obvious such as a voice, a habit, an invisible support.
We tend to give more kindness to the deceased than to the living. We prepare a high tray full of offerings, burn incense for a long time and say flowery words in front of the portrait. Perhaps because the deceased can no longer make us "comfortable". But in reality, it is that "comfort" with reminders, greetings or even everyday arguments that is a sign of life, of a still existing bond.
The word "filial" or genuine respect does not lie in lavish rituals, but lies in normal days when there is no incense smoke. It is a call without any reason, a meal not rushed, a sincere question instead of answering perfunctorily.
Looking back, the thing that makes us most regretful is not having lost someone, but having lived too indifferently when they were still by our side. There are things that we thought were normal when we were alive, but when we lose them, we realize that it is an irreplaceable part of life. Start being kind from today, when everything is still in time.
