五 (wǔ) Double Death
Losing my grandmothers within six months of each other, first in December 2017 and then in June 2018, plunged me into a grief and depression so deep I thought I might never climb out. What I didn’t realize until years later was that the grief I felt after my grandmothers’ passing wasn’t only about their deaths. It was also about the severing of my last living ties to my heritage culture. The pain was so immense, it took me years to realize I was mourning a double death––the loss of my grandmothers, and the cultural self that had been tethered to them.
What I now understand about cultural bereavement is that, much like grief after losing a loved one, the pain comes in waves. It’s the small reminders of cultural loss and fading memories that are capable of sending shockwaves through me. It might happen when I'm talking to my parents and I can't find the right word in Chinese, or when I walk through Chinatown and pass my grandmothers' church. Sometimes it comes when I'm trying to cook Chinese food, scrolling through four to five different recipes because I'm worried none of them will be 'authentic' enough. The pain can take the form of anxiety, sadness, anger, or morbid thoughts, often triggered by images of the past intruding into daily life.
I was desperate to feel close to my grandmothers again after their deaths; on some level I knew the only way was to spend time in Asia. I went to visit a close friend who was living in Saigon at the time, and two weeks quickly became two years. I had plans to move to China afterwards to reconnect with my roots and spend time with an uncle in Nanjing, but the global pandemic struck and I was forced to return to Canada.
What I now understand about cultural bereavement is that, much like grief after losing a loved one, the pain comes in waves. It’s the small reminders of cultural loss and fading memories that are capable of sending shockwaves through me. It might happen when I'm talking to my parents and I can't find the right word in Chinese, or when I walk through Chinatown and pass my grandmothers' church. Sometimes it comes when I'm trying to cook Chinese food, scrolling through four to five different recipes because I'm worried none of them will be 'authentic' enough. The pain can take the form of anxiety, sadness, anger, or morbid thoughts, often triggered by images of the past intruding into daily life.
I was desperate to feel close to my grandmothers again after their deaths; on some level I knew the only way was to spend time in Asia. I went to visit a close friend who was living in Saigon at the time, and two weeks quickly became two years. I had plans to move to China afterwards to reconnect with my roots and spend time with an uncle in Nanjing, but the global pandemic struck and I was forced to return to Canada.