The married life
In our early years of marriage, we had two young children and my husband was in and out to sea a lot on a Navy ship. When he was on island he needed to use our only car to drive to Pearl Harbor each day, and when he was at sea I had the car.
The children and I had developed a morning routine of walking to church, which was nearby, to attend daily Mass. But then we moved to an apartment which was farther away, too far to walk, so I decided we would take the bus when the car wasn’t available.
The first morning as we waited at a bus stop, a car pulled up and an older Chinese man I recognized from church asked if we would like a ride. We were happy to oblige.
His name was “Mr. Yee,” and he was very kind. He said he had been a pharmaceutical salesman for many years and often had to travel to neighbor islands for his job when his children were young, and he remembered how hard it was for his wife when he was gone. I was touched by his understanding. By then he was a retired widower.
Mr. Yee said that whenever we needed a ride, just stop at the corner and he would pick us up on the way to church and he would drop us off afterwards. We often took advantage of this and rode with Mr. Yee. For the whole year we lived there we never took the bus. After that year we no longer needed rides.
Mr. Yee was a quiet man and didn’t say much, but we all grew fond of him. The children always thanked him for the rides.
After that year we still saw Mr. Yee in church, and one day after Mass he came up to us and introduced a woman about his age, who was also a widow, and he said they were going to get married. They both seemed peaceful and joyful; we were happy for them.
Some time went by when we noticed that Mr. Yee was no longer coming to daily Mass. His new wife came up to us one day and said that Mr. Yee had advanced-stage cancer, and that he requested that we visit him. We were surprised; we didn’t know he was ill. We had never been to his house, but we were glad to go.
Mr. Yee was a quiet, faith-filled man, and he didn’t complain. He showed us pictures of his grown children and his wife’s family. He said that he was not in pain, and that both he and his current wife knew what to expect because both their former spouses had died from cancer. We told him we would pray for him, and the children and I prayed for Mr. Yee each night before bed.
Then we learned that Mr. Yee died. We decided to go to his funeral. I think it was the first funeral our children had ever been to. It was my first funeral in Hawaii.
The church was full of people, mostly Chinese, and I didn’t know anyone except his widow. I felt a bit out of place and decided we would just stay in the back of the church and not go up to the coffin.
But then I discovered how much Mr. Yee meant to my children when my young son, aged about 4 or 5, looked at me pleadingly and said, “Mom, you mean to tell me that this is the last time I’ll get to see Mr. Yee, and you’re not going to take me up there because you’re too shy?” So, of course, we did go and pay our respects.
We prayed with Mr. Yee and thanked him for his kindness to us. We spoke to his widow who told us that though their time together had been short, it was worth it.
Now I am at the age that Mr. Yee was when we knew him. As I recall his thoughtfulness and his quiet strength, it makes me think of young families today who could use a bit of help. It doesn’t have to be grand gestures, but small things that make a difference.
Older people have a lot to offer young families, especially wisdom and understanding. Mr. Yee’s reaching out to us will not be forgotten. I hope I can do the same for others.
“One generation commends your works to another; they tell of your mighty acts.” (Ps 145:4)