On the eve of this past Lunar New Year, my oldest cousin informed us that his father Luo Chunming (1930-2023), the elder brother of my late mother, passed away in Shanghai, China. He was 93.
Age 93 is an impressive longevity. But judging by the life span of his 102-year-old mother and his robust health two months previously, Uncle Luo does seem a little premature in his passing. One cannot help but wonder if it has anything to do with the abrupt opening of COVID-19 restrictions and lack of medical supplies and hospital beds in the city.
An architect by profession, Uncle Luo had two passions in his life: playing soccer with his circle of friends, and drinking Chinese liquors alone or with company. Watching him sipping away at the square table in his dinning room, I was often wondering if the latter passion had anything to do with his disappointment at his career or personal life. From 1949 to his retirement in the 80s, very few professionals were highly regarded by society. His other disappointment might lie with his children. With the exception of his eldest son who eventually became the associate dean of the Shanghai Railway Institute, the other three sons have not been inclined academically, or professionally.
Not unlike an uncle's key role in Navajo way, Uncle Luo had played an essential role in our life. Unrelated by blood, my mother treated her step brother more than a full-blood one. Throughout her life, she respected and consulted him on every important issue. Their close relationship was deeply rooted from the beginning. Uncle Luo was the only one who had showed sympathy to my 11-year-old mother when she first came to join her father after losing her grandmother, the sole caretaker. Her father had married his widowed mother.
Uncle Luo's support did not end with their childhood. It is he who made it possible for us to have a brand-new house in 1957, after my parents were squeezed out from their own apartment by a free housemate. Teamed with my paternal grandfather who was a contractor, he designed an imposing blue-bricked two-stored duplex on the family property right behind his house. On hearing that there was a potential opportunity for me to study foreign languages upon my graduation from high school, Uncle Luo gave me all his help, which opened the gate for us three siblings to have inspiration for higher education.
The respect between my mother and Uncle Luo was mutual. My uncle admired my mother's extraordinary capabilities and uprightness. I vividly remember one incident during one of my home visits from university. For some stubborn reason, I was arguing inconsolably with my mother on a minor topic, and soon joined and backed up by my sister and brother. Uncle Luo got wind of it and came to intervene our loud quarrel. His words were brief, but sobering, "You three are obviously correct, since you have received proper education. But it does not give you the right to prove that you are correct at the expense of your parents." From that point on, we never had similar arguments ever.
The last time I saw Uncle Luo was at my mother's interment in December 20, 2019. He paid his last respect to his beloved sister at the Lexiang Cemetery, Shanghai.
