"Sometime this month," and leaves it at that, clearly not wanting to talk more about it.
As I'm asking the question, it occurs to me that I've been working on my unit for almost a year now (when did that happen??)... which means that I would've been licensed for a little longer...
And right there, are the fourth inning of the Yankees/Tigers game, I pull out my RN license and, yup, it is my 1 year anniversary of being a nurse.
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| Omigosh Yay~! (This just captures my total joy and fluffy feelings) |
And I'm so psyched with this idea because it just hones in the (however miniscule) progress I've made over the past year. And it's just so exciting that so much fun and joy can happen in such a short time.
.
.
.
On that note, I find myself sleeping in really late, to the Baby nudging me awake,
"Come on," She coaxes me. "We're having a prayer."
(Since our cult[ure] has prayers like babies take shits, I need a little more clarification)
"For what??"
"It's been 40 days since Tita T died."
A few years ago, when our Tito B died, we had a prayer at his widow's house practically every day, leading up to an actual commemoration of his death at 40 days with a large prayer that people braved despite the flooding in the neighborhood.
This time, I drive into our old neighborhood, passing the old streets I still know with the back of my hand, turning by the park next to my old school, and passing my old school bus stop as we pull up to Tita T's home... right next to my old house... and one house away from Kris and Belle's old house... which, in turn, is a house away from Kai's old house. (When we were younger, our cul-de-sac was pretty much the Little Manila of the neighborhood)
The place doesn't look like it's changed much, at least not now. Most of the facades are the same color. The mango tree in front of Kai's house is still huge and,
"It still blooms a lot," Tuttie says after the prayer and laughs, "But the family who lives there doesn't eat them so the rest of the neighbors just take them."
The prayer itself is longer than I would have thought, with a lot more "Pray for her soul"s than I remember and I actually go on auto-pilot around the 3rd sorrowful mystery. I don't remember the last time I've been in Tita T's house and I take in the changes that I barely remember from my childhood; the cabinet's new, the walls of the living room have been changed from white-washed to a vibrant yellow that looks suspiciously a lot like the color my mom picked for our living room, and the kitchen space has been sponged in evergreen.
"Paul and Doni actually did it themselves," Tuttie tells me later and I laugh because the idea of my skinhead, burly and beefy cousins crouched next to the walls and creating sponge-patterns is just too hilarious to keep in.
We eat after the prayer, watch the kids run around, and catch up between now and the last time we were all together for the funeral. Kris is stressing about nursing school and asks me for advice: I tell her to drink excessively. Belle, who has been the only one of us girls not to pursue a health-related career after college, shocks me and my sister with announcing that,
"In the middle of my LSAT, I just sat up and realized I didn't want to be a lawyer for the rest of my life." She's smiling slightly hysterically and I'm a little concerned in the back of my mind, but Belle goes on to say, "I don't know what it was. I just raised my hand and walked out of the test... and I was just so happy that day."
"I think you had an epiphany." The Baby laughs a little. I'm inclined to believe the same... or that Belle might've had a mini-crisis, but judging by the way Belle smiles so easily at the idea of accepting a career she previously didn't care for, I don't think this is the case.
All the while, we sit in the living room, switching couches, chairs and positions around the coffee table in front of the TV... on which sits a small wooden box...
"There aren't any openings." Tuttie says, nodding to the unobtrusive box containing her mother's ashes. "Just a few screws underneath, but it's not like what you see in movies with urns getting knocked down and cats peeing on them."
When the night ends, I say my goodbyes and touch the box, giving a prayer that means more to me than the 50 Hail Mary's I responded to two hours beforehand. Most people would say something like, "She's in a better place now." But I think being in the healthcare business fucks with everyone's perspective on reality and the afterlife... even for the faithful, I'm not sure all of them can maintain their beliefs after a while. Well, my family can... largely because their crazily Asian and Catholic. Not sure what that says for the rest of us...
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