Taboo

Rare is the family in which there aren't taboos hidden somewhere. I encountered two of them this week.

The Chung Yeung Festival falls on my daughter's kindergarten term break this year. We went to my father-in-law's grave - without bringing Jasmine with us. "How can I explain to her in very simple terms that her grandfather is somewhere else and won't come back?" I wondered. "And, what if Jasmine asks me when her grandpa is going to stop being dead so she can have picnic with him?"

Three days later, we brought Jasmine and her cousin to a playground. It was a sunny afternoon in autumn, the kind of weather that brings energy to people. "Should we ask our mother to join?" I asked my sister. I brought that up because we don't seen our mom that often. My sister didn't answer for a moment.

"Um." That word spoke volumes of disapproval.

It's never difficult to understand why we feel pressured to have our mom to join (and give unsolicited opinion). I know that it is no use to stop my mom complaining why her grandson hasn't been potty-trained like the girl across the street, why the bathroom habit of bringing a book in would make the process of toilet learning to go on forever, and countless worries for the umpteenth time. My mom thrives on worrying.

Oh no, why am I comparing the experience of death and meeting my mom here? Of course, that isn't and shouldn't be the case at all.