Auntie Barbara is a successful woman. She flies between cities for conferences. She writes books in retirement and shares her interviews over dinner. She speaks with absolute certainty on politics, healthcare, and public policyโnever to be questioned.
She has a soft spot for animals. Though she owns many cats, you usually see only two when you visit. She loves them too deeply to let them suffer, so she puts them down early.
The first time we met, I was wearing a winter jacket with a fur-trimmed hood. She lifted the fur with her fingers and said, โI forgive you.โ I wasnโt sure what I needed forgiveness forโuntil I learned she was a vegetarian. Then I understood why she skipped over me when introducing family members. I was an omnivore. A moral disappointment.
I considered apologizing. But I also wondered if anyone had told her that her shoes were made of calfskin leather.
She is an optimistic woman, which means she doesnโt entertain complaints from younger women. When I mentioned the sleep deprivation that comes with caring for a newborn, she dismissed it with a scoff and said, โThatโs just menopause.โ When my sister-in-law brought up the difficulty of balancing work and motherhood, Auntie Barbara snapped, โThen go live on welfare.โ
She is a loving mother. Her sonโs birth certificate left the father field blank, but the boy received care from every available system. He spent some time in โShepherds of Good Hopeโ, then went to a psychiatric hospital, and eventually died there. Auntie Barbara was busy, but she managed to visit when her schedule permitted. After his death, she considered suing the hospitalโfor not giving her a final visit.
She cares deeply about family. When her niece once planned a destination wedding, Auntie Barbara erupted.
โHave you thought about your family? How can you be so selfish?โ she shouted. Even the cats flinched.
Perhaps her niece was thoughtless. After all, she had failed to consider that Auntie Barbara had never had a wedding of her own. Couldnโt she at least be allowed to attend someone elseโs?
Her niece wasnโt the only one who stopped speaking to her. Once, I overheard my father-in-law slam the phone down and say, โThat bitch!โ They didnโt talk for months. I never learned what happenedโthough I vaguely recall someone suggesting that Auntie Barbara had been trying to send her sister, my mother-in-law, to the psychiatric hospital.
Which was strange. I thought she hated that hospital.
No, noโI would never stop talking to her. I knew she didnโt like meโan immigrant from a so-called third-world country, not working in a restaurant or a coin
laundry, but as an engineer. It made her turn over in bed, in the middle of the night.
We still visit her. After all, I only see her once a year.
Last Christmas, she asked why I still hadnโt given up my old citizenship. It quickly became clear she didnโt know the differenceโbetween permanent residents, foreign workers, and refugees. But since sheโs the family expert on foreign affairs, I didnโt correct her. I simply replied, โItโs convenient to visit my parents.โ
That gave her the opening she was waiting for.
โThen you have to choose. Do you want your family here or your parents there?โ
โMy parents are my family.โ
She was stunned. Iโm usually the silent Asian woman at the table. But my parents and I love each other deeply. We believe in showing love while weโre aliveโnot just after someone dies.
Believe it or not, I do feel for Auntie Barbara. Even though she never liked me. I can see the pain in her eyesโjust beneath the certainty. The wrinkled nose, the narrowed eyes, the way every conversation circles back to her. Itโs all armor.
Sheโs hard to like. But I admire her for having a child on her own. I wish she knew that the women around her were not the ones who let her down.
If sheโs disappointed now, she can take it up with her nephew.
My husband.
Heโs exactly like her.
Jin, Tailiย is the pen name of Wu, Shuliu, a Chinese-born writer based in Ottawa. Her work explores the quiet fractures of migration, gender, and family. She writes from the silence between generations.
