Monday
“The church is having a Christmas party tomorrow. There’s going to be pizza,” Ma said over the phone as we caught up after my return to the U.S. after vacation. “Do you want to go?”
I had not been to my childhood church in 16 years, since I moved out on my own for the first time at 23, nor had I seen the pastor and his wife since they attended my grandfather’s funeral later that same year.
While I’ve called myself agnostic for the last several years, I’m not personally against the idea of church. My only personal gripe is that I love to sleep in on weekends. And while it’s not for me, I am grateful for the church being my mom’s community. Since the party was in the evening and I love pizza, I agreed to go.
It was pretty surreal being greeted by folks I hadn’t seen in over a decade. They were very friendly, and there was some nice catching up. I finally met my mom’s friends, and it was cool seeing how my peers who I grew up with are living their lives now. I thanked the pastor and his wife for attending my grandfather’s funeral all those years ago, as it was very unexpected and meant a lot to us.
On top of all that, there was Christmas singing from the couple who does the Sunday music, officially putting me in the seasonal spirit.
Overall, I did not expect to find myself entering a building I hadn’t been inside of in over a decade. Looking back at it a day later, combined with the old friends I caught up with in Singapore and Hong Kong over the summer, I think it’s amazing how some people are never truly gone from one’s life.