Today, I woke up and found out that one of my uncles (on my mom’s side) passed away. My other uncles and a couple of my cousins came together to get him to the hospital, but he passed before he got there. A few years ago, he was a victim of a car accident and has been on a wheelchair since. He was the jokester of the family, and my early memories of him were of me crying after he teased me nonstop. I don’t even remember now what he said or what types used to make me cry. My mom said that I was never a crybaby so he must have said something really terrible. I don’t know what counts as terrible when you’re a kid. All I know is that now, I hold on to those memories… memories of attention, of quality time spent, of fondness.

Today, I also found out that he was basically the one who named me Peachy. This is what I knew of my name. I remembered that my name did not always include Peachy. I have three first names, that used to be two before they officially added in “Peachy” after complications on official documents when everyone would call me “Peachy” despite my legal name. In the country where I grew up (Philippines), names and nicknames and signatures are taken very seriously on legal documents. Originally, I was told that a friend of my grandmother used to call my grandmother “Peachy” and when I was a baby because I looked so much like my grandmother, she would also call me “little Peachy” – my uncle then started calling me that and from then on, everyone would just call me Peachy to the point that nobody even knew my “real” name. My name is no longer just my name; it has also become the thread that ties me back to the people I love, a word that will live on and hold countless memories.

I am saddened that he never fully recovered since his accident; I always believed he would, and maybe he is now, maybe he is running around, no longer encumbered by a disabled body – back to his happy and joking self. My hope is that he is in a better place.

At this moment, thank God for Facebook, we are able to communicate with our family as we grieve together and comfort each other. It is ironic how death brings us together, but no matter the reasons we are grateful that we are able to come together; that we have our family to lean on, bonds that are somehow strengthened by loss.