What I have experienced in the past few days has been a true out-of-body experience. When I think back to Wednesday May 11, 2011, the memories I see are like scenes from a movie or TV show or a dream. I see myself experiencing the events of Wednesday, rather than feeling like I experienced it myself. Reality has 2 parts: the part that actually happened and the part where your mind has to accept what actually happened. And if something happens that you can't believe, but know is true, everything feels like a dream.

I visited southern California last week for less than 4 days. With so many people to see, I set aside Wednesday as my day to visit family in the Baldwin Park area. On Wednesday morning, I called my sister Helen, she told me "let me call you back" and I heard a siren go off. I take the phone with me to the shower because I'm positive that the siren I heard meant bad news. I actually thought my uncle that Helen lives with needed an ambulance for some reason. That was the only possibility that occurred to me.

I distinctly remember putting shampoo in my hair when my phone rang. Helen told me our aunt had stabbed herself and she was being taken to the hospital. We call her "Bak Long" in Chinese, which means my dad's older brother's wife. This was definitely sad and traumatic news, but Helen didn't tell me she died, so I thought she was going to be okay. This was at least her third attempt at suicide that I knew of, and she's always been okay. Well, survived is a better word, because my aunt was not okay.

Before I left David's grandma's house in Fountain Valley (where I was staying), I talked to his Aunt Barb and his grandma about having a BBQ the next day. Yes, right after getting news about my aunt stabbing herself, I still thought having a BBQ would be okay. Not out of insensitivity, but out of extreme optimism. I was worried about my aunt for sure, but the only outcome possible to me would be normalcy.

When I arrived at Helen's house, she and my other aunt (big aunt) had not returned yet. I called my mom to tell her of the news, she said "yeah, I know, bak long has died." I responded, "What?! No she hasn't!" And my mom responded, "oh thank god." You don't take a dead person to the hospital, right? When Helen and big aunt returned home, then I got the story:

My uncle (my dad's older brother, Bak Long's husband, we call him "Bak Fu") had heard that Bak Long didn't show up to work that morning. She didn't answer her cell phone or the house phone. Since we've had suicide scares before, Helen and big aunt had a key to their house. So Bak Fu sent them over. The story big aunt described to me was out of a movie, which is why it's so hard to believe. Big aunt found Bak Long passed out on the bed covered in blankets. She shook her with no response. When she uncovered the blankets, that's when she saw the blood and two big knives. She screamed to Helen, "Call 911!" Big aunt said the blood looked dry, at least 2 hours old. Bak long's heart had already stopped when she was found, but the paramedics revived her. So they don't take dead people to the hospital.

With all this additional information, I still believed everything was going to be okay. Bak Long was in the operating room at USC Medical Center, they were going to save her. Bak Fu, my cousin Annie (Bak Long's only daughter and child), my dad, and my aunt Tammy were already at the hospital, there was no need for us to go also. So Helen, big aunt, big uncle, and I went on with our day.

We ran errands that we were planning on running before the morning's incident. We ate lunch. We even laughed. Not only did we laugh, but I found my big aunt more funny and witty than I had ever known her to be. We were listening to Lady Gaga, and my aunt complimented how nice-sounding American music was, while Chinese music sounded so whiny with people singing about "not being able to live without you." She also seriously advised me to advise David that he’s too smart and too pretty to be working on cars, and he should be a phlebotomist. I wondered if my big aunt's humor was freed after my grandma's passing last year. Anyway, I think the four of us all felt the same way - she's going to be fine like all the other times.

Helen and I get text messages that she's finally out of the operating room (after 4 hours) and in the ICU. That's good, right? That means she's alive, right?

I texted Annie to see how she was doing. She texted back "I'm mourning, but idk." Mourning? Why? "At least your mom's still here," I text back. "They say she's not going to make it," she texts back.

It was probably less than 30 minutes after that text that we got the news she was gone. We were expecting it for 30 minutes, but only 30 minutes. This isn't like when my grandma passed. I had weeks to prepare for that phone call.

I got to see everyone that was at the hospital for dinner. We ate at a vegetarian restaurant, because it's custom to eat only vegetarian until after the funeral. Annie's eyes were red and she asked me to go with her to the bathroom. I later found out that she's scared of her mom's ghost. Connie and I bickered at dinner. I can't blame that all on her, but I'm disappointed in both of us. I told her that I want to go into Psychiatry, and she said, "Nooooo," and I said, "don't tell me what to do." "I'm not telling you what to do," she responded very defensively. Connie knows me well on some levels, but I don't think she understands my values. So I was upset at her presumptions.

Anyway, we went to the Taoist church after dinner where we met with Annie's best friend Debra. They greeted each other with a long hug, and I cried just watching. We chanted and prayed for Bak Long. Then the church members and us sat around to discuss the funeral arrangements. They spoke in Mandarin so I didn’t understand. But when my uncle was describing the day’s events, I didn’t have to understand Mandarin to understand what he was saying.
After we left the church, Annie, Debra, and I went to go talk. Just the three of us in Debra’s car. I had my tissues on hand. Annie opened up about everything she was thinking and feeling. One of the most difficult things from this whole experience was hearing Annie describe what she’ll miss about her mom: she won’t be there to cook soup for me when I’m sick, she won’t join me in bed in the morning and just hold me, she won’t tell me to wear a sweater, she won’t fold my blankets. It was perfect that the three of us were there together. Annie’s my favorite cousin and I’m hers. Debra is her best friend, whom I made my honorary cousin. I wasn’t there for my family when my grandma passed and I was okay with that. But I had to be there for Annie. The timing of my visit worked out perfectly. It kind of feels wrong to use the word “perfect” in this situation, but I believe I was meant to be there for Annie.
The other most difficult thing from this experience was waking up the next morning. As soon as I opened my eyes, I awoke to the reality that my aunt was gone and that she died so traumatically. I started sobbing the moment I woke up. David and I then went for a walk, and it helped stop the tears.
Our plans were to leave for Davis that day (Thursday). But not before seeing Annie one more time, and not before helping my family somehow in some way. And we did help out in a small, but meaningful way – we helped move the mattress on which my aunt had died out of the house. As we walked to the bedroom, I asked David if he was ready. He said no. There was some blood on the floor, and the mattress had a circle of dried blood. It was like a scene from a movie, and that’s what it felt like. A movie. Yes, there was a dark red circle on the mattress, but my reality didn’t believe that it was my aunt’s. It was a king-size mattress and as we maneuvered it out of the house, the mattress would fold. And that’s when we saw it. I remember staring at it in shock. The blood was bright red oozing out of the mattress. As fresh as the blood I see when I draw blood on patients. It makes sense considering she lost liters of blood and it had only been a day, but it’s a sight I never thought I would ever have to see. No one does.
Bak Fu also helped us move the mattress. He’s a very serious man, who does what needs to get done. Annie told me he cried at the hospital when he kissed Bak Long’s cheek and said goodbye. I’ve never seen him cry. I wasn’t there to see it, but the image of the strongest man I know crying as he kisses my unconscious Bak Long’s cheek still instantly brings a lump to my throat.
Bak Long’s purse and sweater were sitting on the couch in the house. Like she was home. I remember staring at it too, struggling to believe that she will never use her purse again.
This tragedy was not just any death. She stabbed herself in the chest, and the knife went through to her back. She leaves behind my favorite cousin, who is about to graduate high school. She was one of the sweetest women in my life. She was so loving and nurturing and caring. But she was sick and suffering. She hadn’t been herself in the past year, the mental illness consumed her. So I am terribly sad and will miss her so much. But I’m not asking “why?” There really are no questions to ask, we can only move forward.