His name is Yuan Yuwen. He was a father, a son, a brother. A first-generation college graduate. A civil servant. And he was my uncle.
I used to pride myself on not being part of a big family. Knowing how complicated big families can be, I always thought it was for the better. For the longest time, I only really knew the people closest to me—Mom, Dad, my grandparents, and, of course, her daughter, my cousin. But for the longest time, I felt I barely knew him. He always seemed to be away, absent from me, from her, from us.
The truth is, I do have a big family. A cruel decade uprooted this family, and we drifted apart. And the truth is, I regret letting myself drift even further. But the truth is—I did get to know him.
I learned he was the first in our family to be admitted to college. He became a role model for his siblings, who followed in his footsteps and went to college as well. I learned he graduated, became a civil servant, and earned a starting salary higher than his father’s. I learned about the divorce that haunted my mom’s side of the family, an event so painful it became a taboo to talk about.
I learned he once served in the most remote parts of the country—a sacrifice that made him sick, along with his smoking habit. I learned he was a plain-spoken, observant, and intelligent man. And I learned he could be stubborn.
I learned he loved his daughter deeply. Despite his struggles, his daughter loved him just as much. I knew my father liked him. I knew my mom loved him. I knew his mom loved and cared him. He passed away one month before his granddaughter was born. I know he would have been proud.
What else is there to know? Except that he loved and was loved.