Never before have I worked somewhere that has given me the opportunity to meet so many brokenhearted people with so many touching stories. To be fair, they aren't all brokenhearted anymore; many of them I talk to have just moved on in their lives.
The busiest time of the year to work at a cemetery is Memorial Day weekend. I'm always amazed at how many people come to spread flowers and stand over the graves of their loved ones to remember them. Personally, I remember my brother Chris throughout the year. Sometimes with tears, sometimes just with happy memories. I've no grave to stand over for him, which suits me just fine. He would find that morbid anyway. Instead, I have the South Falls at Silver Falls State Park. What a glorious place to stand and remember the funny, kind, intelligent, loving man I was blessed enough to have in my life for 28 years.
But this post isn't about Christopher. However, I see within myself the need to tell his story. This post is about a gentleman named Mr. Guan .
Mr. Guan is an 84 year old gentleman from Thailand, whom I first saw in April during the Chinese Memorial Day weekend. I noticed him instantly when I walked up the stairs at work because this distinguished gentleman had his eyes sewn shut. He was sitting on a couch in the reception room waiting for his ride home after having delivered flowers to his wife's grave. He looked to be sleeping, so I left him alone.
This weekend, Mr. Guam came back to deliver more flowers to his wife's grave and I had the opportunity to talk with him. Well, to question him, because I am always full of questions. He seemed happy to have someone to visit with, and after the niceties of polite introduction, my first question for him was "How did you lose your eyesight?" I'm not one to shy away from people's physical infirmities, obviously.
In 1964, Mr. Guan worked as a boat hand. Now, the language barrier between us made it difficult for me to follow every word he spoke, but I was able to glean this: The boat he worked on was bombed, and the heat of the explosion burned his eyes. He was taken to the United States where his eyelids were sealed shut against the dead orbs that would no longer allow him sight. In his mind, he still sees the blue sky, flowers, his loved ones faces. He recently told a friend who also in her 80's, that to him, she will be forever young, because that is all he *sees* of her in his mind.
When Mr. Guan decided that he wanted to stay in the United States, immigration mistakenly assumed he was Chinese and translated his last name to Kuan. For 45 years his passport has him listed with the wrong last name. How odd to me that he didn't insist they change the K to a G.
His wife, whom he had known and loved since they were ten years old, immigrated to the States to be with him. Because she was a nurse in their native land, she was able to find a job in Portland working for one of the hospitals there. Mr. Guan got a job working at the same hospital as an x-ray film developer. How a blind man is able to develop film I will never know. That was one question I didn't ask.
It's easy to look at someone like Mr. Guan and be impressed with his ability to overcome the obstacle of blindness, find a career he enjoyed for more than 20 years, raise three children in a new country and maintain the gentle nature he seems to have. That isn't what impressed me about him however.
Twenty years ago, his wife came down with Alzheimer's. From what he told me, she became somewhat violent which is typical of the the disease. Still, he cared for her at home. She had a stroke in the 90's to top off the Alzheimer's and her doctor insisted that Mr. Guan wasn't in the position to care for her full time. His love was moved to a nursing home, which he visited daily. She died when they were both 80 years old (70 years of knowing and loving each other) of pneumonia. The only real anger he carries to this day is that she wasn't properly diagnosed and taken care of. She was four days into the pneumonia before anything was done. By that time, it was too late.
What impressed me most about this gentleman was that he was able to love one woman his whole life, through thick and thin. That to this day, he misses her enough to get on a bus, come to a cemetery and rely on others to take him to her grave where he places 4 dozen of her favorite roses. Once the task of his remembrance is done, he sits in our lobby for more than an hour alone, waiting for the bus to come back and drive him home. When I asked him why he didn't move to California or Texas to be near his children, his only relatives, he said "I can't leave my wife here alone. Besides, I can't *see* my children but I can hear their voices on the phone."
I wonder, when he passes away, who will remember him? How many lives has he touched? Who will think about this gentle blind man who loved his wife so much? I will certainly try. Maybe I'll come back and read this now and again just to remember. This will be my way of spreading flowers on a grave. Until that time, I look forward to seeing him again.
