Thai Relations - Part Three

Thailand had not been on my radar. Other destinations had been on my radar.

I thought that after Crete I would be spending time with Madam Sisca in Tanzania, Africa, and maybe check out Mozambique from there. After that, I had hoped to make my way to Cape Town, South Africa to visit my Meditation Family friend, James. The Tanzania plan fell through when Madam Sisca's parents needed her attention in India, so the African domino tour never got started. Then, a friend in Athens talked about going to Bali. For a moment, I thought Bali was my next destination, until that plan fell through. My Schengan visa in Crete was ending so I took a 10-day cat sitting job in Antalya, Turkey. My experience there was not good. I was cold and miserabe and considered an early return home. Then, out of the ethers (around Daddy-O's birthday) came...Thailand.

The idea to travel to Thailand appeared like a subliminal suggestion from a soft spoken, decisive angel. It was like a new character in an unfolding story. Who is this character, Thailand? How will this character, Thailand, move the plot (being my unfolding life) forward? Where will this character, Thailand, lead me? I asked my soft spoken, decisive angel, Why Thailand? What will happen there? Where do I begin? For the first five days there was radio silence. That felt disorienting. Then, she spoke.

At day five, the thought emerged to look for Uncle Richard's Thai wife.

Finding this mysterious Thai woman was like putting together a puzzle. Let's start with this one piece (she lived near the bridge over the River Kwai)... Oh, here's a big piece (pictures sent by my cousin Barry)... now this one (people at my homestay recognizing the temple in one of the pictures)... and this one (people at the temple recognizing Ing and fetching her sister)... then, voila - the picture was clear. The process felt synchronistic and magical. Looking back, I see clearly that my soft spoken, decisive angel was guiding me, that the plot was to find a long, lost Auntie, and that the outcome was getting to know Ing.

When getting to know someone, I find myself listening to their words, noticing their body language, sensing their underlying message, and becoming curious about their essence. I notice what lights them up and what shuts them down. I notice, too, what lights me up and shuts me down. What are my reactions to their words, their message, their essence? How do I feel with them? What thoughts arise? What parts of me connect (or don't connect) to what parts of them? When I'm speaking, I notice their reactions to me. Are they ok with what I expressed? Did they understand me? I am considering what to express now and what to save for later. I imagine they are noticing these things too, and wondering.

Are we interested in each other? Am I being seen, heard, and accepted as I am? Is it safe and worthwhile to continue with this getting-to-know-each-other process? Are we invested in this process, knowing that it takes time?

My Auntie Ing and I spent one month getting to know each other. We had one month of daily contact. I don't know that there's ever enough time to know someone. Plus, our communication was slowed down because of our language barrier. Ing spoke Thai; I spoke English.

English is not Ing's first language. She was not formally educated in English. She listened to her husband talking (in English) with others, such as my dad and Uncle Dave (when they were there for their annual month-long visits). When her husband died, my dad and Uncle Dave were her only connections to English-speakers. Daddy-O and Uncle Dave stopped visiting (about a decade ago). When I arrived she was out of practice. "Use it or lose it" is real. So it was especially impressive how much English came back to Ing as we talked.

I, on the other hand, had nothing to offer. I have no memory for language - no language skills - and had no understanding of Thai.

Without common language, and with limited time, you'd think we wouldn't be able to get too far. One month of daily contact, though, was enough time to set Ing firmly in my heart, and me in hers. Now, when we video chat on the phone we are both smiling like our stretched mouths will tear. We tell each other how relieved we are to connect. We say, "I love you."

During our one month of daily visits, some things Ing shared were very challenging for me to accept. I often went back to my hotel room to be alone with my thoughts and feelings about what I'd just learned about my dad and uncles. Alone in my room, I'd sit with our cultural differences and my biases.

Ing's stories repeated, each time with more detail, more nuance. She seemed intuitive to my reactions. Each time my face revealed pain she would say, "we were happy; he was happy; I'm happy." Each time I would say "this is hard for me to hear" she would say "I know." Especially at the beginning, our converstation would stop there. I would excuse myself and go to my hotel. We would meet the next day. At some point, the story would continue. This is how our communication went, with starts and stops, loops and sensitivity, slowly unfolding over the course of a month.

Ing told me stories of her life with "Uncle Dick." She referred (and still refers) to her husband as Uncle Dick.

When they met, she was a housekeeper at a hotel. He was there on leave from the war. It was most likely the Korean war, though I'm unclear about that. Those kinds of details weren't important. What was important to Ing (in telling how they met) was the mutual love-at-first-sight experience they both had. Though neither of them spoke a word of each other's language they were able to express their attraction for each other. Ing was a 24 year old Thai woman. Dick was an American man in his 40s.

Ing told me that Dick got an interpreter to join their "important conversations." At their first important conversation, he conveyed to Laing (Ing) that he was separated from his (American) wife and had three children. He asked if, knowing this, she wanted to start a relationship. She did, and agreed to live with him... for 30 years.

For years, Ing told me, Dick sent money home to his wife and children. During those same years, she sent money to her family in Kanchanaburi. Ing told me that she and Uncle Dick were poor. She washed clothes by hand for money; she planted vegetables and fruits in their yard for food.

About 20-years into the relationship, my Aunt Sally (Dick's wife) died, leaving them free to marry. Ing told me that she didn't think getting legally married was necessary but Uncle Dick insisted. He told her that he could care for her after his death (financially, via monthly US social security checks) only if they were legally married.

Now, Ing is almost 80 years of age. She has dealt with mulitple surgeries from a knee injury and cannot walk far or for long. She has been dealing with diabetes and now, breast cancer. She receives a small monthly SS check from her deceased American husband and thanks him. I heard her... thanking him, out loud... laughing at her past resistance, realizing the wisdom of his foresight.

Ing shared that Dick had debilitating and painful rheumetoid arthritis and at around the time they married, asked if she'd mind him not working and staying home. So, for their last ten years or so, they lived together full time as a married couple. That's when my Uncle Richard's two older brothers (my dad, Sam, and my Uncle Dave) began visiting.

Sam and Dave were resistant to traveling such a long distance, and being in unfamiliar territory and conditions. Richard persuaded them to visit once, for one month.

"Your father didn't like the flies," Ing said. Listening to her, I remembered how, in summer, my dad would stay up at night chasing a fly. I remembered how, sitting at the dining room table, he'd reach into the air and catch a fly in his hand. He was tuned in and haunted by flies.

"None of them," Ing said (referring to the three brothers), "liked Thai food. I had to cook them chicken. Every day, I cooked chicken - not fried chicken, boiled chicken. Your dad wanted me to make him chicken soup."

I thought back to when my dad had major heart surgery and I stayed at his apartment in Peabody, Massachusetts before, during, and post surgery. He asked me to make him chicken soup. I made chicken soup for him while I was there. I bought glass pyrex bowls and packed his freezer with chicken soup each time I went back home to Brattleboro, Vermont. When he was strong enough, I sat him down in his kitchen and showed him how to make his own chicken soup. I remember talking him through his first few solo batches over the phone.

Each time, before Sam and Dave visited, Ing sprayed their home and garden with bug repellant. She cooked meals they wanted to eat. She catered to the brothers so that they would want to return.

Uncle Richard found his brothers a posh hotel near his and Ing's home in Pattaya. The hotel had everything the two brothers could want. It was clean, air conditioned, had a pool, massage, etc.

The two brothers had ajoining suites and stayed in the same two rooms for one month, every year, for over 20 years.

I visited the hotel. It was bling-bling. Dude, there was a waterfall in the lobby garden.

Ing told me how my dad and Uncle Dave continued to visit her after their brother/her husband died. "When Uncle Dick died, they said they'd come back. I didn't think they would. But the next year they did."

Dad and Uncle Dave continued to stay in the same adjoining rooms at the same hotel for one month (around February and March) every year for 10-12 (more) years. Prior to their brother's death, they had walked daily to Dick and Ing's house. After their brother's death, they continued daily walks and visits to see Ing in Pattaya.

Ing aged and had health problems. At one point she sold the house she and Dick had lived in and moved into her sister Ampon's house in Pattaya, further away from Dad and Uncle Dave's bling-bling hotel.

Early during our visits, Ing's nephew Thandadol ("Dol") drove us to see the spot where Ing and Richard's old house had been. Dol parked on the street by where the house had been. The house had been torn down and replaced with a massage studio. Dol, Ing, and I sat in the car looking at the massage studio, silent. The street was loud - full of businesses and busy with traffic. Ing said, "It used to be quiet." From what Ing described, Pattaya has had a(n over)growth explosion in the last ten years. In those ten years, she had not been to her old neighborhood. It did not seem to be a pleasant moment for my auntie.

My dad's story was that he (and Dave) helped Richard's wife buy and move into a new house. He had said something about her living by the bridge over the River Kwai. That was the information I had to go on when I started my search. I learned that Ing did not move to the Kanchanaburi area; she moved from it. That was many years before Dad and Uncle Dave began visiting. From what I gathered from Ing, when she sold her house in Pattaya, it was because her family (sisters, neices, and nephew) decided she needed more help and moved her into Ampon's house.

The year Ing moved to Ampon's house was the last time Dad and Uncle Dave visited her. It was the last time the brothers made the epic journey to Thailand. The brothers (many years older than Ing) were (also) aging and had health problems.

Back in Ampon's house, Ing pointed to the room and the couch where we were sitting. "It was here," Ing said, "where they said This will be the last time we visit."

Uncle Dave told her he didn't feel well enough to travel again. Dad and Uncle Dave had told us (their American family members) the same thing. I remember that at that time Uncle Dave stopped being able to travel to Cape Cod in October to fish. He stopped being able to travel to Florida in January to their time share. I imagine not traveling to Thailand (in February) was especially hard for Uncle Dave and Daddy-O because they had another life there.

"For a few years," Ing said, "I waited for them to show up." This is grieving logic. Grieving logic is not logical. It's more like magical thinking. Ing's waiting for Sam and Dave to show up was the same magical-thinking-logic that made her wait for her deceased husband to come home. "Uncle Dick went to Bangkok to work and he took a taxi home," Ing had said. "For years after he died," she told me, "whenever I saw a taxi stop in front of the house I thought it was him." My Uncle Richard, her husband "Uncle Dick" didn't come back to her from the dead. My dad and my Uncle Dave didn't come back to her from the USA.

They also didn't call. When I realized Dad and Uncle Dave had not been in touch with Ing since their last visit to Thailand, I felt embarrassed, dissapointed and angry with them. It felt to me their not calling had been uncaring and neglectful. Ing saw my reaction. She said,"It's ok."

She and I both understood that my dad and Uncle Dave kept their lives in the USA and Thailand separate. "Uncle Dave explained they needed to stop contact here," Ing said. When they left, both my dad and Uncle Dave severed all their connections in Thailand, including thier connection with Ing.

According to Ing's recollection and my calculations, the last time Daddy-O and Uncle Dave visited Ing in Thailand was somewhere between the years of 2012 and 2014, over ten years ago. Then, out-of-nowhere she gets a phone call from her sister Sunee in Kanchanaburi saying, "Sam's daughter is here looking for you."

Ing did not know that my dad, Sam, and my uncle, Dave had died. It will be five years ago this May since Daddy-O passed and five years ago this August since Uncle Dave's passing. In very real ways, because we are connected through Sam and Dave, Ing and I spent a month grieving together. I grieved my dad and Uncle Dave. Ing grieved them and her husband "Uncle Dick." We cried. We hugged. We looked at pictures. We laughed. We sat quietly.

Sometimes Ing visited me at my hotel around the corner. We had a favorite spot with two lounge chairs set up at the edge of the pool bar that seemed to catch needed breezes (on those 85+ degree Fahrenheit days).

I enjoyed being in the pool any time of day or night, though sunset when no one was there was my favorite time.

Despite our language barrier, Ing and I talked at length every day. Often the same stories would recycle, with more and more details added to them.

When they lived in Kanchanaburi, Dick told Ing that he wanted them to buy thier own house. He got a loan and became indebted to his boss. They moved to Pattaya. Often he left to work in Bangkok for days on end. Whenever his boss needed him, he'd go. When he was home, he went out drinking and stayed out late every night. One day Dick told Ing that he would stop and (surprisingly) he did.

Dick had rheumatoid artritis and suffered. When Dick told Ing he'd like to stop working he asked how she'd feel if he were home every day and night. She said, both to him and to me as she recalled the story, "I'm happy."

Ing told me how "Uncle Dick loved orchids" and tended them in their garden. She grew their food, cooked and cleaned, and washed and ironed Dick's clothes (as he liked them). Early in their relationship, Dick told her he woke at 2am or so every morning, hungry, and that he wanted her to cook him an American breakfast. She asked him to show her how, he did, and she cooked (at any time of day or night) for him.

"After Uncle Dick died," Ing said, "I didn't want another man." She said, "I was free." She laughed a bit. Many times over the course of our month together, Ing expressed two points equally: "I was free" (after Dick died) and "We were happy" (while he was alive).

Ing lives in Ampon's house alone most of the week. Ampon stays overnight for a couple of nights weekly. Ampon started out being quiet around me, though I think the reason was more about us not knowing each other's language. As Ing's English warmed up, she was able to interpret for Ampon and me.

Once we got started, Ampon shared concerns and frustrations about her husband. He "doesn't hear well" and often "won't talk with me." As she described his behavior, I wondered if he has dementia. She said that a brain scan showed areas of decay or atrophy. I suggested that his brain isn't working well and that might be the main issue. We had serious conversations and we laughed often. Our conversations ran the gambit between fun subjects like sex and contemplative subjects like spirituality. One time while we were talking, a pigeon joined us.

Ampon lives in her husband's family house. Also living there are her husband, three grown (unmarried) children, her husband's mother, and her husband's brother's 13-year-old grandchild. Ampon does the bulk of the cooking for the family. Sometimes, Ing says (laughing), "She needs a vacation. That's why she comes here."

Ampon's daughter, Non, does the bulk of driving everyone around. The other two adult children (another daughter and a son) work and contribute money to the household. I met the whole family once for my birthday. I met Non a couple of more times - when she visited Ing and again on my birthday. Non, Ing, and I went out for Indian food (my birthday choice). Neither Non nor Ing had tried Indian food and were quite leary about it. "If we can't eat it," Ing had said, "can we go get Thai food?"

The day after my birthday, Ing and Ampon's whole family (except Ampon's mother-in-law who is unable to go out) took me to eat at the mall called "Terminal 21." Going to eat at a restaurant in that mall is a major event. "That's what we do," Ing had said, "We go out to eat for birthdays." We went to Sizzler.

When I saw where we were going, I chuckled. Though it's an American-based restaurant, I've never been to a Sizzler (steak house). I thought they chose that restaurant for me (because I'm an American). Come to find out, this Sizzler was the most impressive restaurant in the mall. I don't know about American-based Sizzlers, but this Sizzler had a salad bar to die for. There were hot and cold items galore, from appetizers to desserts. The soup bar had a variety of cuisine choices, included Tom Yum - my absolute favorite Thai dish. And the salad bar was a side - when you ordered an entree from the menu. I ordered the least expensive item on the menu and just ate from the salad bar.

There weren't English-speakers among us (except for me, of course). Ing knew more English than the others, though hers was limited. Still, we figured out how to communicate with some words we figured out and a bit of made-up sign language. I learned that a few family members at our table had played tennis with my dad. I gathered that they all knew Daddy-O and Uncle Dave in different ways and I had wished I could communicate better with them to learn more. We ate and talked as much as we could, and laughed a lot. I knew it was a treat for all of us to be together. I gathered that these family members were usually busy with work and they (the family) didn't go out like this often. Unfortunately, I didn't take a family picture.

I did take pictures... of the mall bathroom. It was impressive. There were high-end Toto toilettes in every stall. Every stall. In every bathroom. I checked 'em all. All the bathrooms and all the stalls at the mall had Toto toilettes. Yeah, I took a video.

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After the family left, I stayed in the mall to wiindow shop... and take more pictures. Terminal 21 is an internationally-themed bling mall with sculptures scaling five floors. There was a leaning tower of Pisa... an Eiffel Tower...

... a little more Italy...

...a London Bridge...

... giant Sumo wrestlers and a wall of anime masks...

...and of course, a Thai village.

When I left the mall, I walked to the hotel Dad and Uncle Dave had stayed in. I wanted to find someone still there from the past, who might have known them - might have stories to share. I was hungry for more connections to my dad and uncle. It was so incredibly busy in the hotel lobby, I didn't get a chance to slueth about. I did get some more pictures of the area.

Terminal 21 was pretty-in-pink (and purple) all lit up at night.

I wandered around outside the mall...

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...and tried to capture the full moon on film as I got close to my hotel. (It is impossible to capture the moon on my phone camera)

Dol is Ing's nephew. When I moved to Ing's neighborhood, Dol picked me up (at the first hotel) and brought me to my new hotel, carrying my bags and extending all ways of friendly and helpful. Ing was in his pick up truck too. Dol took two days off to hang out with Ing and me. We talked (first, using Ing as translator) and drove to different places around town. We started with going to eat at a food court in a mall called the Big C.

Dol was persistant about figuring out how to add WhatsApp to his phone so he and I could stay in touch. We figured out that if he wrote in Thai, my WhatsApp could translate Thai to English. WhatsApp on his phone didn't have that option so I used Google Translate to translate my messages from English to Thai, copy/pasted the message into WhatsApp, and then sent him a Thai message. Once, after I'd sent him an English-translated-to-Thai message, I translated my message to him back to English, to see how it read. Turns out, English to Thai back to English translation is rather odd. In Thai, there's no past or future tense, and gender is not clear. So, between us, I imagine our translated communication was twisted into a comical knot. Still, we persevered.

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One of my favorite of our most memorable conversations was what we pray about. Dol said that every year on a specific date, at a specific temple, he prays to Buddha to make a specific amount of money. "I didn't know you could ask Buddha for money," I said, laughing, "I usually pray for things like peace of mind and compassion."

Dol asked if I'd like to go to temple and I very eagerly said "Yes!" The next day, he drove the three of us to a temple close to where Dol works.

The three of us walked around the temple grounds. I watched Dol and Ing praying at various stops, and really enjoyed them gonging a bell.

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I very much wanted to sound all the bells. There were SO many. (I did not. I just wanted to)

Leaving, we walked by a tree with ribbons and strung marigolds hanging from its branches. Dol saw me looking at the scene with sweet reverance and laughed, explaining that, though tourists think there's significance to this, it's really just a place to discard used blessings made at the temple.

After the temple, Dol brought us to his place of work and showed me around his shop. Among other things, he fixes old jukeboxes. I asked him if he'd come back to the USA with me to fix my family jukebox that's not working. He will not.

We walked next door and he showed me around his boss's shop. The store was full of gorgeous furniture and art and other items, like a player piano.

My month-long visit with my newfound family wove through both the whimsical and deep real-life drama.

Dol played the player piano on Tuesday. On Friday, Dol's boss's 14 year old son Tommy was hit by a car and fell off his motorbike. Tommy's head had hit the pavement and he now lay in hospital, unconscious. The prognosis was not good.

Without a thought, I went into meditation mode and talked with Tommy. He was scared and didn't want to die. There was an energy of hysteria that I teased out to be his mom's. I prayed with everything I had for Tommy to recover and for his parents to find peace. This new reality became a woven thread in our shared tapestry.

Dol brought his family to Ing's while I was there so we could all meet and hang out together.

from left to right: Ami Ji, Ing, Dol and Bee

We went out to eat. Sitting in the Big C food court, I thought of Tommy. Ing had talked about how Tommy was "brain dead" and how he would not survive long. I sat and thought about that and tuned into magic. I suggested to our little group of adults that miracles happen, and we could focus all our thoughts and energy about Tommy into expecting the miracle of a full recovery.

Meanwhile, Tommy's mom and dad were out of their minds. That weekend and the next week, Dol took over the details of all that needed doing. He spent hours every day being a liason for the parents, making phone calls and filling out paperwork with doctors, hospitals, police, and medical and car insurance companies.

On Thursday night, laying in my hotel bed, I was visited by David Schaffer, or at least, the thought of David Schaffer suddenly appeared. In my mind's eye, I saw him. His name came out of my mouth. I recalled the details of the accident as I knew them. Dave was a 14 year old classmate who, during the summer of 1974, between 9th and 10 grades, fell from the back of a moving pickup truck, hitting his head on pavement, moving him into a coma, and ultimately to whatever was on the other side of his death. Suddenly thinking of Dave felt ominous. I did not sleep well that night and made up for it by sleeping late into the next day.

Late in the afternoon, I walked to Ing's home. I learned that Tommy had died earlier in the day. I thought how it was Friday - exactly one week to the day since the accident. I thought about how one moment before, everyone was taking life for granted. I thought about how it had been an unbearable week of pain and suffering for this boy's family and friends, and how now things would get worse. I remembered that David Schaffer had come to mind the night before.

It struck me that Dave had come to help Tommy transition from life to death, because Tommy was scared and didn't want to die, and because Dave could relate to the situation so could help Tommy cross over with peace. I imagined the two boys, both 14 years old, glowing with comradery. For the living, it was shocking and devastating news. I could not - and still cannot - stop thinking about the parents who just lost their child. In my mind and heart, there is an energetic-spiritual container holding them, so that inside of it, they are free to keep falling apart. This is all I have to offer in this situation.

Throughout all this, Dol remained attentive to his family.

Dol is married to Bee. Bee is the daughter of Ing's older sister Sunee. Sunee's three children are nicknamed A, B, and C, in order of birth. Bee is the second-born. Bee and Dol have two sons. I met the younger son a couple of times. He reminded me a lot of my Ash. I felt instant love for him. I feel loving care for all of them.

Dol brought us all to a restaurant he discovered because it was basically across the street from his shop. The dining areas were on floating docks, over canals full of koi.

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The grounds housed a variety of free range animals and their habitats.

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There was a large-as-life animatron Tyranosaurus Rex (that made me think of Logan).

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There was a manmade wall of waterfalls...

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Going out to eat happened more often for the family because I was there. Usually, everyonoe makes meals at home.

Ing told me that almost every day, someone in the family (mostly Bee, Dol, Ampon, and Non) calls or visits, checking in, bringing food, taking her to doctor's appointments. Even with all that love and attention, Ing doesn't get out often.

That first day Dol brought me around town (with Ing), we drove to the Pattaya Beach and walked on the sand to the sea water. Ing told me the last time she'd been to the beach was when she and Dick went out to eat for their birthdays.

Ing wanted to share her life stories, and she knew I wanted to know more about my dad's and Uncle Dave's lives in Thailand, so she took out a box of pictures she'd stashed. She said, "I haven't looked at these since Uncle Dick died."

Uncle Dick died in April of 2002. That was a long time ago.

Together, Ing and I looked through pictures of her and Dick and my Uncle Dave and Dad. I took pictures of her pictures.

Top: Ing and Dick in their garden Bottom: Ing and my dad

Ing shared about Dick's death. I remembered he had been diagnosed with lung cancer. She confirmed that.

"I stayed at the hospital with Uncle Dick," Ing said. "He was talking and laughing... telling me he was happy... saying 'thank you' for always taking care of him." Ing said that because he was so talkative and happy, "I thought he wasn't going to die." "But then," she said, "he stopped talking. And he was gone." We sat silent. Ing said, "I couldn't believe it." Here and then not here is a hard reality to make sense of.

Ing retold the story of their last conversation to me a number of times. That's what people do when they're grieving. We retell something we can't wrap our head around. I don't know if Ing had a chance before I arrived to tell the story over and over as much as she needed or wanted to. If she did, my being there and us wanting to get to know each other certainly brought her grieving process back to the beginning.

"Unce Dick" died April 16, 2002. Ing told me that (as is Buddhist tradition) Dick was cremated and his ashes thrown into the river by their home in Kanchanaburi, near the temple where I met Ing's sister, Sunee. Every year around this time, Ing travels (with Dol and Bee) back to Kanchanaburi to float marigold flowers and a lit candle onto the same river. They went this year. Ing reminded me multiple times that they were going on their annual trek soon.

I imagine she's back home in Pattaya now. I'll call and ask how it went.