“As an only child, I’ve always wished for sisters and brothers. I tell myself I’d heartily accept grudges and all,” said Hazzley.

“You might want to reconsider what you wish for,” said Chiyo. “One of the complaints I’ve heard more than a few times from participants in my classes is that out-of-town relatives who drop in for a few hours or a few days to visit are the first to criticize the primary caregivers. They go away believing they can do better but don’t bother offering to share the load. They often have no idea how bereft of spirit—how bereft of energy—the responsible persons really are. Well, who knows, really? I, too, am an only child.” I needed help, she thought, but I had no idea whom to ask or how to ask. I’d already been swallowed up by the role.

“I was lonely sometimes,” said Hazzley. “Though I did have cousins. After I moved to Canada, away from my parents and their extended families, I stopped hearing about daily events.” She nodded to Chiyo. “I can see how complications could arise when blood relatives live within shouting distance. Same village or town, same province, even same country.”

“Grudges are not so amusing when you’ve heard the litany of baggage relatives tow behind them for half a century,” said Addie. “Though I’ve laughed at some of the antics in my family. When I was a student in Montreal, I used to visit one of my favourite aunts, who lived near Dorval. She was skilled at doing crafts and started up a joint venture with her closest friend, who was considered family. They created sturdy baskets using a variety of materials, and local gift shops were happy to carry their creations. My aunt was not in great health and couldn’t get out to drive, so her friend did the driving to the craft stores to purchase supplies. My aunt paid exactly half the cost of the materials, but she refused to pay half the cost of gas. There was a dispute, an actual fight, and they stopped doing crafts together, which was a great shame considering how much they enjoyed the shared activity. They remained friends and continued to see each other from time to time, but never again discussed the basket-making. That was the elephant in the room.”

“Elephant in the room?” said Allam.

“A problem people don’t want to talk about,” Tom offered.

“Ah, the fact that is refusing to be ignored.”

“What my aunt’s friend didn’t know was that my aunt continued to make baskets,” Addie said. “She hid them away until someone else could collect them to be sold in a different set of shops. I was at her house one day when her friend arrived at the door unexpectedly. My aunt hissed at me to gather up the baskets and materials, run them down the hall and hide them on a top shelf in her bedroom closet. ‘She’ll never go into my bedroom,’ she shouted after me. And then arranged herself to greet her friend.” Addie shook her head. “What a family. Invisible funerals, invisible crafts. After that, my aunt lived in fear of being caught out by her closest friend. Even so, she carried on creating baskets for several more years.”