Meant to Be (21 page)

Then it occurs to me that Shannon probably doesn't even know about Mom's death yet. I never thought to ask Dad whether or not he called her today. I consider calling now, but it's so late. I'll have to remind Dad in the morning.

By the time I ask Dad about Shannon, he informs me it's too late. “They're probably at the airport by now, Kim. She'd booked an early morning ffight that's supposed to get here around three, I think.” He shakes his head. “I totally forgot about them.”

“Does she have a cell phone?” “If she does, I don't know the number.” “Maybe Mom wrote it down,” I say. ‘Til go look.” Then I go into the bedroom, looking on the bed table next to her side of the bed. I find her little notebook where she makes her lists and whatnot, the place where she might jot down a phone number. But I don't see anything. However, I do see two envelopes tucked into the back of the notebook. One has my name on the front; the other is for my dad. I go out to where he is making a pot of coffee and hold them up. “Have you seen these?”

He studies them for a moment then shakes his head.
“They were in the back of Mom's little notebook.”
We both take our letters and go off to separate places to read them. I go out to the porch and sit in Mom's favorite wicker rocker, carefully unsealing the envelope and removing the pages.

Dear Kim,

If you are reading this letter, I must be gone. To say I know how you feel is rather presumptuous on my part, but I do remember how I felt when I lost my mother so many years ago. It's something you never forget. And although I am tired and my body is failing me now, I would give anything to stay here with you—to watch you graduate from high school (with honors!) and then college (with even
more honors!) and to see you launched into some impressive career (probably with even more honors!) and then one day to see you walk down the aisle with your true love and then later on to bounce a grandbaby on my knee. Oh, what I would give to be there for all those events with you.

Sweet Kim, you have been the most precious gift in my life. When I realized that I was unable to bear children, I believed that God had another plan. And He did! I will never forget the day we picked you up at the orphanage in Seoul. You were only six months old, and you were already sitting up—and those big dark eyes were so alert, so wise! We knew from the start that you were a special child. I instantly fell in love with you, sweetheart. And my love for you has only grown over the years.

I'm sorry that I can't physically be with you anymore. But I have this deep sense, this blessed assurance, that I'll be able to check in on you from time to time—like when you graduate or marry or have children… Goodness, it wouldn't be heaven if I were cut off from my two loved ones permanently, now would it? So please know that although I am away, I am still here. My love for you will go on forever. And eventually we will all be together
again. I believe that with my whole heart. In the meantime, we will just do our best, won't we? And knowing you, my Kim, you will do better than your best—you always do.

Now here is my final wish for you, sweetheart. Its something I've never really put into words but have always wanted to say: Take time to breathe, to feel the sun on your head, to smell the roses, and to laugh. You've always been a serious girl, but don't forget to have fun, to appreciate the goodness all around you, and to hear the birds singing in the trees. Those are all God's gifts to you, and I want you to enjoy them—and to enjoy the wonderful life that is stretched out before you! And when you do those things, my sweet daughter, remember me!

Love always and forever,

Mom

More tears are running down my cheeks now. I wonder if they will ever stop and then suddenly I hear something—a bird singing from the maple tree in the front yard. I remember what Mom wrote about listening to the birds. And so I just sit and listen. And quite honestly, it's the first time I actually recall just sitting still and listening to a bird like that. And its the most beautiful thing I've ever heard.

For a moment my old Buddhist ways return, and I
actually wonder if it's Mom, in the form of a bird, singing to me. Then I remember what she said about the sun on my head, so I go out and stand in the yard. I feel its sharp warmth on my dark hair, and it actually feels pretty good. Then I see all the flowers that I planted for Mom over a month ago. At the time they were kind of scrawny and spindly with very few blooms, but today they are a rainbow of color and blossoms. Why hadn't I even noticed them before?

“Thanks, Mom,” I say with my face to the sky.

Aunt Shannon and Maya arrived yesterday afternoon. Dad and I met them at the airport, holding up a sign that simply said, “Shannon and Maya,” because the truth is, we don't even know their last name. Fortunately they spotted us standing just outside of the baggage claim area; fortunate because I seriously doubt that we ever would've recognized them. But they came, lugging their bags, the older one waving to us and pointing at the sign.

It turns out that Aunt Shannon is no longer a brunette (like in her teen pictures). She's a very thin, fast-talking, stylishly dressed blonde. The first thing she did after getting outside the terminal was to light up a cigarette. “I thought I was going to die for the lack of a smoke,” she said after she took in a long drag.

“I'm Allen Peterson,” my dad told her. “This is Kim.”

She smiled and shook our hands. “Fm Shannon and this is Maya.”

Now Mayas the one who took me slightly by surprise with her olive-toned skin and long, dark, curly hair. Other than being head-turning gorgeous, she doesn't look anything like her mother. But being Korean with Caucasian parents I'm used to being “different,” so I don't say anything. Neither does Dad.

As we walked to the car, Aunt Shannon kept talking almost nonstop about the crummy flight, bad food, poor service, and air turbulence. “I don't know why they even bother to call it first class anymore. They load everyone in like cattle these days. And security, well, don't even get me going.”

Finally, we were in the car. Aunt Shannon in front with Dad, and me in the backseat with Maya, who didn't look very pleased to be here.

Dad cleared his throat, and I could hear it coming. “Uh, Shannon, I need to tell you something… We would've called, but everything happened so quickly, and then we were busy and, well, somewhat distracted…but Patricia passed away quite late on Saturday night.”

“Oh, no!” Aunt Shannon shrieked so loudly that I nearly jumped out of my seat. “Oh, please, Allen, tell me it's not true. Patricia died?”

“I wish it weren't true—” his voice broke slightly. “But it is. Kim and I have been pretty devastated. We would've called, but we were both—”

“Oh, I can't believe it. I can't believe after all these years…and being so close…1 can't believe I missed her.” And then she started crying, sobbing loudly.

I was sitting directly behind her, so I put my hand on her shoulder. “Mom really wanted to see you,” I told her. “I thought maybe it was helping her to hang on—she'd been feeling so badly before the phone call. And then she rallied, didn't she, Dad?”

He nodded. “She was so happy to hear your voice, Shannon. So glad that you were alive and doing well.”

Aunt Shannon blew her nose. “This is just my luck!”

“Qh, Mom,” Maya said with clear exasperation. “This isn't about you.”

“She was rny sister, Maya! It most certainly is about me.”

And to my shock and horror, they got into this huge argument right there in the car as Dad drove us home. They said horrible things to each other and even used profanity. I couldn't even imagine what Dad was thinking, but I was totally shocked.

By the time we pulled into the driveway, they'd finally settled down, and I thought that they might apologize to us for their complete lack of manners or discretion, but they didn't.

“Is this your house?” asked Shannon. (At this point I had decided not to call her “Aunt” Shannon any longer.)

“This is our humble abode,” said my dad. The apologetic tone to his voice irritated me. I mean, what
reason do we have to be sorry about anything—well, other than losing Mom?

“I thought you were the managing editor of a big newspaper?” she said as Dad unloaded their bags,

“It's just the local paper,” my dad told her. “Small potatoes.”

We helped them get their bags into the “humble abode” and to their room.

“We're sharing a room?” Maya said, more to her mother than to us since we'd already gone out.

I gave Dad a questioning glance, and he just shrugged as if he didn't even care. Then I heard more arguing and the discussion of one or both of them going to a hotel. I, personally, am voting for the hotel!

Their arguing seems to be a fairly nonstop thing. It gives me a headache and makes my dad create excuses to leave. Instead of going to a hotel, Maya has opted to sleep on the couch in the family room. I would've offered to share my room with her, but she kind of scares me. In fact, the only reason I'm nice to them at all is because of Mom. They are, after all, her relatives.

Tonight, Dad and I take a little walk. Mostly to escape another argument between the two of them.

“It's hard to believe they're related to Mom,” I say once we re a few houses away.

He sighs deeply. “I know.

“It occurred to me that they're her actual flesh and blood relatives, and I'm not.”

Well, Dad stops right in the middle of the sidewalk,
reaches over and takes both my hands, and says, “Kim Patricia Peterson, if you're not your mom's flesh and blood, then no one is. You are more like your mom than Shannon or Maya will ever be. And don't you ever forget it.”

I nod without saying anything. Although it was a little abrupt, I know that Dad was paying me the highest compliment possible, and I will NEVER forget it.

“What are we going to do about them?” I finally ask as we tum to head back. I don't admit to Dad that I've been secretly calling them Paris Hilton and Nicole Ritchie since they seem about that spoiled and inconsiderate.

He just shrugs. “Don't know that there's much we can do, Kim. We'll be hospitable for your moms sake; they'll come to her funeral, and then hopefully go home the next day. I asked Shannon if she'd been able to rearrange their return flight, and she said she was working on it.”

“Dad?” I say as we're getting closer to our house.

“Yeah?”

“Do you think it was kind of a blessing for Mom to go before she actually met them in person?”

Now for the first time since losing Mom, Dad almost laughs. Then he reaches over and puts his arm around my shoulders and pulls me toward him. “Maybe so, Kimmy. Maybe so.”

And so that's what I'm thinking. I mean, knowing Mom and how much she was looking forward to seeing Shannon and meeting her only niece, I think it would've
hurt her deeply to see the way they treat each other, to hear their arguments and how they swear at each other like drunken sailors.

Mom had a sweet and sensitive spirit, and I think seeing her own flesh and blood carrying on like this would've just killed her. And if Mom had to die, Fd much rather she died peacefully in her sleep than in the midst of such open hatred and bitterness. So maybe God did know what He was doing after all.

Moms funeral was sweet and simple, probably exactly what she wanted. It was held at my parents’ church, which was packed to standing room only. I was surprised at how many people came—and even more surprised at how each of them (at least the ones who spoke to me) really knew and loved her. I couldn't believe how many people said that Mom had done something to help or encourage them at some point in their lives. I mean, here I thought she spent most of her time at home just doing laundry or baking cookies, and she had this whole other life of helping others. Go figure.

I was also surprised to see how many of my friends from school and church were there. It's almost like I'd forgotten all about these people during the past several days. But apparently they haven't forgotten me. Even Chloe, Laura, and Affie were there. I hadn't even heard
they were back from tour. And Pastor Tony and his wife were there, along with Josh Miller and his fiancee, Caitlin.

“I'm so sorry,” Caitlin told me when we went downstairs after the service.

I nodded. “Yeah, I know.” Then I thought of something. “You remember when you asked me about playing ‘Ave Maria?”

“Yes.” She frowned. “But I'll totally understand if you changed your mind, Kim. I mean, you've been through—”

“No, that's not it. I just wanted to tell you how ironic it was that you wanted that piece since my mom had loved it and I learned it last December just so I could play it for her at Christmas.”

Caitlin got tears in her eyes then hugged me. “That's awesome, Kim. I wish I'd known your mom.”

“You would've liked her.”

And that's what I thought as we stood by her grave later this afternoon. Everyone liked her. I honestly couldn't think of one single person who didn't like my mom. And then I asked myself why was that so—I mean, I know there are people who don't like me, but then I don't especially like them either—and that's when it occurred to me that it was because my mom liked everyone. She was the kind of person who could find the good in anyone. No matter who I brought home, what they looked like, what their family was like, Mom always liked and accepted them. Now some people may think that's no big deal, but to me it was totally amazing!

But in the same moment that this revelation hit me, I glanced over to where Shannon and Maya were standing off to one side. While I know that Mom totally loved her sister, it occurred to me that she'd never met her niece, Maya. And watching Maya standing there with her scowling face and narrowed eyes, with her arms folded tightly across her chest like she could hardly stand us and couldn't wait to get out of here and back to her fashionable friends in Beverly Hills, it hit me—Mom would've loved her too!

So now I'm back home, and I realize that Mom's not here anymore, and that it's up to me to love someone as unlovable as Maya. As it turns out, “Paris and Nicole's” airline tickets are nonrefundable, and their return flight isn't scheduled until next Wednesday. So it looks like God is giving me one whole week to practice loving someone in the same way my mom would've done.