I miss Pó Po so much that my entire body feels numb. I remind myself what Mae Yí-Pó said about being connected to family in a different way when they pass. I’d do anything to stay linked with Pó Po.
When I have no luck finding Bennett, I follow the path around the building to a grassy patch for the next part of the ceremony. The containers of food offerings have been brought outside, along with dozens of finely crafted paper objects.
I spot Auntie hovering on the side of the group and settle in next to her. Moments later, someone else walks up and finds his place next to me.
“Hey,” Bennett whispers.
I turn and gasp, surprised to see him standing in front of me. “Hi,” I whisper back.
Mom moves to the front to face the group, positioning herself next to a large red enamel burn bucket. “Thank you for joining us as we send goods to Pó Po in the afterlife,” Mom starts. “She left us with a list of very specific items she wanted.”
There are many knowing chuckles from the crowd.
“Classic June!” someone in the crowd yells, drawing more laughs from the group.
“In Chinese culture, it’s unlucky to arrive empty-handed in the afterlife,” Auntie explains, elaborating on her trainings from the past week. She nods hello to Bennett.
“Unlucky?” Bennett repeats.
“Families burn joss paper and paper funeral offerings crafted to look like and represent items that their loved ones might need in the spirit world: a house, car, money, clothes, a Mahjong kit, a television, and a chest to hold their money and belongings.”
“So, things you had on earth,” I say in understanding.
“Some people even throw in a jet plane for their ancestors. The sky’s the limit, depending on what you can afford to buy or have made.”
“Those paper offerings look so real,” Bennett observes.
“It’s how we take care of our ancestors. The items must be burned so they can make it to their final destination in the other world and be used by the recipient,” Auntie says.
Bennett and I listen closely, soaking in the tradition we’re about to witness. I’m surprised that he didn’t know about this custom, either. This bit of knowledge about him is oddly reassuring. We’re learning together.
“In the afterlife, you can give the deceased a life they never got to live,” Auntie adds. “It’s a way of providing comfort.”
“I’m relieved knowing that Pó Po’s next chapter is only just beginning, and that it’ll be a comfortable one,” I say. Part of me wonders if she’ll be reunited with Gong Gong in the afterlife.
Auntie nods. “And then some. You want Gucci shoes but never had the ability to afford them here on earth? We can offer up a pair during the ceremony. Of course that’s an extreme example. First things first, we need to make sure Pó Po has the necessities.”
“That’s wild, but I also kind of love it,” I say, looking up at Bennett. I never thought there would be a nice way to move forward into death. When there are designer loafers involved, maybe the afterlife isn’t so bad.
“The point is to keep our family happy,” Auntie explains.
“Does this only happen at funerals?” I ask.
“This tradition is integrated into different holidays throughout the year, but also on birthdays and special occasions. It’s up to you,” she says, giving me a small smile before joining Mom and Uncle Rupert at the front. Together they move the various paper objects into the bucket. Somewhere among the pile of goods is my contribution of handwritten notes so that Pó Po would have my words to keep her company. I also decided to sneak in some copies of client profiles so she could do what she does best: matchmake.
I’m entranced by how intricate each item is, their bright colors and careful construction on the verge of being…set on fire.
“This is how we stay connected,” I say out loud to myself. Realization dawns that this is my way back to Pó Po. She’s only a fire away.
Up front, Nina points out various objects. “A yacht?” she asks. “Does Pó Po even know how to operate a boat?”
“That’s what the ship captain is for,” Auntie clarifies. “We can’t forget to add a wine cellar and a sommelier. She may not have had those luxuries in this life, but in the next one, she can.” Auntie and Mom share a small laugh.
“There’s a disco ball in there,” I inform Bennett, nodding toward the bucket up front. “I wonder what dancing in the afterlife feels like.”
“Less joint pain probably,” Bennett says, his crooked smile appearing. How I’ve missed that smile.
Our faces glow as the objects go up in flames, the yellow and orange flickers dancing against the ink-black night sky. We watch in silence as the paper funeral offerings are transformed into smoke, a form that escapes the natural world.
