Back to the present

I had planned to go back to take one of Bounthong's plants from the living room—Seuth had said that he didn't want to keep them, and I love those plants because they remind me of Bounthong. Thuy and I both thought that they would make great souvenirs, so when we left on Sunday, we both told him that we'd be back to pick them up.

After I finished working, walked Patica, had dinner, and took a shower, I called the apartment to tell them that I'd be on my way soon. Seuth answered the phone, so I chatted with him. Knowing that he is quick to throw away things that he doesn't want to deal with, I jokingly asked, "You haven't thrown away my plant yet, have you?" Imagine my surprise when he told me that yes, in fact, he had. I pressed him on the matter, thinking he was messing with me. "No, I'm not kidding," he claimed.

I started to cry; the lump in my throat left me speechless. Even though I knew that Seuth was grieving, too, and that everyone has a different way of dealing with grief, I couldn't believe that he could have been so selfish as to throw away something I had specifically told him I wanted as a souvenir. I was so angry that I changed my plans for the evening and stayed home.

Later, I thought to myself, yes, I am being selfish, because it was all about me! My pain was about all those times I had been there for Bounthong (and for him, because he didn't understand the doctors and wouldn't ask questions, or so he wouldn't have to miss work)—from the doctor visit in April 2006 that led straight to Exeter Hospital, where I spent all day translating for nurses and doctors; to the Lahey Clinic, where Bounthong had a full hysterectomy "plus"; to later trips back to Lahey, to the oncologist, to the blood lab, to the radiologist, to the pharmacy, to wherever I could find Evian water, and more. All I could think was, I've done all this for you, and you couldn't see your way to giving me something that would make me happy and that you didn't want anyway?

I knew that Bounthong would have given him a good tongue lashing if she were there, because she understood that the sentimentality behind a well-chosen gift imparts positive energy to the object, no matter what it is—and she certainly didn't throw things away that still had a good purpose to serve!

Les funerailles de Bounthong: Sunday

This morning, the monks were brought to the apartment to lead the final ceremony of the weekend. Many people had already gathered to participate by the time I arrived, including Sharon. The Laotian women were all dressed in beautiful silk skirts, and everyone wore a colorful sash. After the prayers, all the guests ate their fill and then gathered up leftovers to take home.

By midday, most people had cleared out, but Thuy and I stayed behind to help restore the apartment to normal—vacuuming, moving furniture back into the living room and bedroom, cleaning the bathroom, and washing the floors, and trying to make the place feel like a home again. A few hours later, we finally were able to sit down with Koukaï and breathe. Little Koukaï happily went off with her cousins for a ride to the airport, and Seuth snored loudly—first from the sofa, then from the bedroom (where he plans to continue to sleep on the massage table), so when Thuy and I left, Koukaï finally had some peace and quiet to be with her thoughts—not to mention the closets that she planned to go through ad clear out before her departure on Wednesday.

Les funerailles de Bounthong: Saturday

This afternoon was the second ceremony. Before going to the funeral home, several of us family and close friends were initiated as "little monks" to help encourage Bounthong's soul on its way. Nephews Bobby and Capitol had their heads shaved in the morning and were already dressed in orange robes like the monks hen I arrived. The Koukaïs, Kong and Biona, Bay, Annie, and I dressed all in white (to signify purity) as if we were Buddhist "nuns."

Many more people attended today than last night. Cousin Annie has arrived from Seminole, Florida, after two snafus with her airline ticket (costing her more than $1,000). Cousin Scottie arrived from Toronto after driving all night, just to stay the day; he hadn't seen Bounthong in more than 30 years! Sharlyn (the hospice nurse) and Sharon (hospice home health aide) came, Paula and Joe were back, Thuy was accompanied by Abby and Sam, and Anne and Jon stopped by. The rest of the room was filled with Laotians dressed in black.

To end the ceremony, we all approached the casket to sprinkle Bounthong with perfumed holy water and place a candle and a flower on her breast. (Note to self: Find out what those were for.) Next, a convoy accompanied Bounthong to the crematory in North Hampton, where we said our final goodbyes.

Meanwhile, people continued to arrive at the apartment, filling it to overflowing.

Les funerailles de Bounthong: Friday

The first Buddhist ceremony at the funeral home was this evening. Several Laotian monks from the temple in Lowell were there, but other than immediate family, only a few other guests attended. I knew Thuy, Paula and Joe, and Jon. Of course, many more people showed up at the house to "share" with the family.

I understood that the point of the ceremony was to pray for Bounthong's soul, that it would detach from her body and depart from this world in peace. The chanting of the monks was quite calming.

Les funerailles de Bounthong: Thursday

Because I was out of town with my car up on a jack on Tuesday, I wasn't able to get to the apartment until nighttime. I know that people (the hospice doctor and nurse, Thuy, and various friends and neighbors who helped with the funeral arrangements, like Tioy) had been in and out all afternoon and evening, but I just wanted to stop and be there for a few minutes—maybe give everyone a hug and be on my way. Koukaï was resting or sleeping and never came out of her room, but little Koukaï came out after a while, full of questions and comments.

"Je suis triste parce que Mamie n'y est plus, mais je suis contente parce qu'elle ne souffre plus" ("I'm sad because Grammy isn't there anymore, but I'm happy because she no longer suffers.") I couldn't have said it better myself! Then she asked me why her grandmother's insides had to be drained, why she was cold, and what the room looked liked where she was now. I did my best to answer, and she seemed happy with my responses. Phew!

First, it seemed like random Laotian people populated the apartment and front yard of Bounthong's place constantly, starting Tuesday afternoon, swinging into high gear on Wednesday, and expected to hit a high on Saturday evening. Apparently, when someone in the community dies, it's OK to just show up a the family's house, eat your fill, waste whatever you want (after all, you didn't have to pay for it), and drink yourself silly (or, say, pissy—see later). Wednesday night, I talked to Koukaï while she worked: prepping, cooking, fetching, and cleaning up just over 24 hours after watching her mother take her last breath. Nonstop hadn't quite stopped yet.

This evening, I figured that I needed to see it all for myself and that I could lighten Koukaï's load a bit and give her a chance to talk if she wanted to. So I went over to help: I washed dishes; cleared trash from the tables; stocked the coolers; chopped onions, chiles, and garlic; washed greens and herbs. I met Uncle Sy, from Las Vegas, who had hoped to arrive to visit with Bounthong but didn't make it.

Although I don't understand the Lao language and couldn't tell whether most people were talking about Bounthong or the weather, I did overhear some 20-something guys yammering (in English) about where they had lived before, New Hampshire, the Laotian community, yadda yadda.

Late in the evening, probably around 10 pm, I was in the bathroom washing out some jumbo mixing bowls in the bathtub. One of those guys stood outside the bathroom for a few minutes, apparently just watching me bent over the tub (um, thanks for that). Finally, he spoke up. "Uh, d'ya think I could take a piss first?"

More than a little annoyed, I looked up at him with the blankest look I could muster and volleyed back another question: "Could you wait 5 minutes?" After all, he wasn't a little kid and surely had control of his bladder. Besides, I was working while he was playing (which clearly was not an issue between Laotian men and women, I had observed), and he probably didn't even know Bounthong or at least had never used that bathroom before. So I proceeded to scrub and rinse.

Before I was quite finished (just a minute or so later), the same guy does a little dance and whines, "I don't think I can hold it!" Geez, I think, aren't you a guy? Can't you take a whizz out back?)

I quickly wiped out the tub with a paper towel, gathered up my stuff, and left the bathroom without looking at him. "Maybe you shouldn't drink so much beer," I joked (not really).

Later, Koukaï told me that a woman she had never seen before told her that she'd make a great house servant! Incredulous, Koukaï had simply stared, then turned and walked back to the kitchen. Then the same woman asked another who "that girl" was. "She's the daughter of the woman who died," replied the woman-in-the-know.

Adieu, mon amie

After more than 18 months since her cancer diagnosis, Bounthong finally let go. She had spent most of the day only semi-conscious; her body had become so weak that she could barely move, and she couldn’t speak. After prolonged best efforts (hers and those of her family as well) to encourage her recovery, she said goodbye to the family at her side with a final look and a smile. She was 57 years old.

I wasn’t there myself, but the hospice nurse was, and she told me that Bounthong died peacefully and quietly—I think dignified would be the right way to describe it, and only fitting to the woman who always looked “put together,” even for her early-morning English classes. Bounthong’s husband Seuth claims he will remember forever seeing her take her final breath. And her daughter Koukaï, grieving, wonders whether she could have done more.

Honestly, I’m just relieved to think that she will suffer no more. I will miss Bounthong, but she remains with me as well. I will prepare pad thai the real way (proud to know that I obtained my certificate from la cuisine de Bounthong), wear my Laotian skirt (to be made from imported silk that she ordered for me from Thailand), say with confidence that the kitchen sink is l'evier (pas le lavabo), and remember many other things that my "Asian mother" taught me.

Spa-licious!

What is spa-licious, you ask? Well, it’s how I decided to celebrate my 40th birthday—by inviting some friends to help me welcome this new year with some sun, relaxation, white sangria, and MYO spa goodies. Spa-licious!

First, I chose the main activities: footbath, face masks, and salt scrubs.

Next, I used Evite to invite lots of girlfriends (no boys allowed!) to come hang out on a Sunday afternoon.

Then, I bought an extra-large footbath and gathered the primary ingredients: different clays, essential oils and herbs, carrier oils, and salts.

Finally, I set up the minispa and welcomed almost a dozen goddesses-in-waiting! Together, we soaked, sipped, slathered, and sloughed—a real treat for everyone!

La ville de Québec

What can I say? On a eu du fun! It was a blast! The weather was perfect, the architecture was amazing, the best music was free, the cheeses were plentiful and delicious, and the people were nice. The city has a very European feel—like France, but without that attitude that English speakers sometimes experience—but with a distinct North American vibe. Still, Marina and I spoke French at every opportunity. I’d go back in a heartbeat. Check out some pix in my Picasa album!

Random pensées:

• You don’t have to ask for fries with that, because ouais, you get frites with everything ... except maybe crêpes. But I couldn't be sure.
  
• The only poutine I ate was the first night, at Le Cochon Dingue (i.e., The Crazy Pig, not to be confused with La Vache Folle/The Mad Cow), with pulled pork on top. Miam!
  
• If Quebec City were a perfume (eau de Québec), it would smell like a warm waft of horseshit (from the carriage rides).
  
• Apparently, en québecois, “kitchenette” means a tower created from a coffee maker, a small microwave, and a dorm-size fridge. (We decided to call it an “-ette.”)
  

Wal-Mart and China get stronger, America gets weaker

I have never made bones about my not liking Wal-Mart, for lots of reasons. The main reason is the effect on the American economy of sourcing most of its goods in China, where labor is cheap, rather than in this country, where people need good jobs. My new complaint is that Wal-Mart is selling "organic" foods that aren't really -- they're factory-farmed lookalikes that can fool people into thinking that they're doing something good for themselves and the environment.

The only way to stop this behemoth is to with our dollars. Just say NO to Wal-Mart! Check out this video ad, then read about Wal-Mart's effect on a country addicted to low prices and join the WakeUpWalMart.com: America's Campaign to Change Wal-Mart.