I just found out my god-daughter’s aunt died suddenly, of liver cancer.
She was young, in her 40s.
My god-daughter is 13 years old. She didn’t call to tell me about it;
she kept it inside. This is the second sudden death in the family Selina has encountered – the first was her mother when she was 6 years old. Now, her father’s sister passed.
I was not all that surprised that Selina didn’t tell me about it either by phone, email or Facebook message; she has a history of keeping grief and distress to herself. But what I found rather surprising was what her grandma told me when she broke the news to me – we spoke in Cantonese.
“Mei-bo (美寶), Selina was in New York last month from Virginia just for one day – to attend her aunt’s funeral.”
“O…grandma (I call her grandma just like Selina does), I’m so sorry.”
“What was the cause of death?” I probed.
“Cancer… liver cancer.” Grandma uttered.
“It must have been very sudden? Shocking to everyone, including Selina?”
“Yes, no one knew.”
“What do you mean no one knew? How can that be?” I pressed her to clarify as her voice was getting softer and I was more confused than ever.
“She didn’t tell anyone she had liver cancer. We only found out about it the day she died.” Grandma’s voice was beginning to crack. My heart sank.
I couldn’t understand that. How could she not have told anyone about it in the family? I was muttering… but audible to grandma.
“Grandma, so how did Selina handle it? How come you didn’t tell me about it?”
“Selina was okay, she’s not so close to this aunt. And I didn’t tell you because – as the Chinese saying goes, ‘Share good news, but don’t report bad news’.” (报喜不报忧)
I immediately got that in my gut, what she meant.
I’d heard that Chinese saying goes “share good news, but don’t report bad news” (报喜不报忧) often when I was growing up in Hong Kong. That phrase – in my experience – was used often to keep friends/family from getting worried about something. It was sort of the “I don’t want to bother you about my distress…” kind of mentality in the American psyche. But in the Chinese psyche, there may be a certain self-pity that’s attached to that mindset when they say they don’t want to share bad news – and in this case, that aunt didn’t want to share the “bad news” about her liver cancer to anyone, not even within her family.
As I ponder the news, I wonder about the intention of keeping one’s health problem – as serious as cancer – to oneself. We would never know the real intention behind this aunt’s decision, but I can’t help but ask – is this classically Chinese? Reporting only the good news? What’s the point of not sharing the bad news with family? What’s the shame about this? Perhaps it is classically Chinese.
When I was injured and bloodied on Ground Zero on September 11th, I too, didn’t tell my dad on the phone that evening when he finally got through to my office at Dateline NBC. I remember muffling my shaky voice, pretending to be strong despite my cuts & bruises on my body. “You make me proud, you got out alive!” my dad said. How can I tell him I was injured? I remembered I didn’t want to say anything to make him worry about me. I was alive, and I was subconsciously following the “filial piety,” (Chinese: 孝, xiào) a virtue of respect for one’s parents. I too – didn’t want to share the bad news!
我刚刚发现，我教女的姑姑突然去世了，死于肝癌。她很年轻，40几岁。
我的教女今年13岁。她没有打电话告诉我这件事；她自己默默承受。这是Selina第二次经历家人突然离世，第一次是她的妈妈，在她6岁的时候。这次，是她爸爸的姐姐。
Selina没有打电话或发邮件或发Facebook信息告诉我这件事情，但我并没有很惊讶。她有把悲哀和难过藏在心里的历史。但当她奶奶告诉我这个消息的时候，她的一番话让我吃惊。我们用广东话交谈。
“美寶，Selina上个月从维吉尼亚来纽约参加她姑姑的葬礼，只呆了一天。”
“哦，奶奶（我跟Selina一样叫她奶奶），我真遗憾。”
“去世的原因是什么？”我探寻道。
“癌症，肝癌。”奶奶说。
“这一定很突然吧？每个人都特别惊讶，Selina也是吧？”
“是啊，没人知道。”
“什么意思？为什么说没人知道？怎么可能？”我鼓励她讲清楚一点，她的声音在变轻，我就更糊涂了。
“她没告诉任何人她得了肝癌。我们是在她去世那一天才发现的。”奶奶的声音开始哽咽。我的心沉了下去。
我不明白。为什么她没把这事告诉任何一位家庭成员？我在轻声低语，但是奶奶听到了。
“奶奶，Selina是怎么面对的？为什么你没有告诉我这件事？”
“Selina还好，她跟这位姑姑不是很亲。我没有告诉你是因为，就像中国古话说的那样，‘报喜不报忧’。”
我一瞬间就明白了她的意思。
我在香港长大的过程中经常听到这句中国古语“报喜不报忧”。这句话，在我的印象里，经常用来不让朋友和家人担忧。在美国人的心境里，这有点像是“我不想用我的烦恼来烦你”这样的一种心态。但在中国人的心境里，当他们说他们不想分享坏消息的时候，他们的心态里可能包含了一种特定的自我怜惜。这位姑姑不想与任何人分享她得了肝癌的坏消息，甚至她的家人。
我思索着这个消息，揣摩着为什么一个人要把自己严重的病情隐瞒，例如癌症。我们永远也不会知道这位姑姑的真正用意，但我不禁想要问，这是不是很传统的中国化？只传达好的消息？不跟家人分享坏消息的用意是什么？有什么可惭愧的？也许这就是很传统的中国化。
当我在911事件中、Ground Zero附近受伤流血时，我也一样，那晚，当我爸爸终于打通了我在NBC电视台Dateline节目的工作电话时，我没有在电话里告诉我爸爸这个坏消息。我记得我抑制我虚弱的声音，故作坚强，尽管我全身都是伤口和瘀青。“你让我感到骄傲，你活着出来了！”我爸爸说。我怎么能告诉他我受伤了？我记得我不想说任何让他担心我的话。我还活着，我在不自觉地履行孝道，这是一种尊重父母的美德。我也一样，没有分享坏消息！