A Kiss for Mom

How we remembered, and honored our loved ones after they’d been, gone…translated…

My father who’s ninety-seven is in his dreams, I didn’t wake him.  Bring along a poem I just finished, I’d passed through the city ravaged by the rain, through your silent lying on the side, listening to the waves, with the Guanying Mountain in the distances, gazing up at the morning, star.

Dad is slowly losing his memories now, forgotten that you’d, left, forgotten that he’d, cried over you, didn’t remember the heartaches.  When he’d longed and asked for you, I’d always told him, “mom’s watching T.V.” or, “mom went to bed already!”, then, the small room we were in, fell into, that boundless, silence.

Dad’s been blind a long time, with only the dying hearing remained out of his right year, last night, he’d complained of not hearing your calls of late.  I’d, modeled after the trembling hands that you had in your Parkinson’s, held on to his thin, frail, palm, he’d, smiled and took my hand, kissed it gently, and his, silvery white stubbles, gave me the tingling pains.

At age ninety-seven, dad’s still dreaming, I’d not waken him up.  The raging rain released a bit, the flowers outside, all fallen to the pavement, the springtime thunder rolled at the tip of the end of the distant, skies, the morning, patted my face gently like you’d done before, reminded me to get a gulp of warm water before I head out.  I’d come to before you, patted the plaque of your spirit, I’d brought you a kiss, the kiss that’s, kept on your, mind.

So, this is in death, how we remembered our loved ones.  We keep these rituals of worship, to keep those whom we’d loved and lost, still alive in the, memories, and somehow, this ritualistic behavior, can help us, cope with death better…

Where Did the Little Angel Fly to?

How do you, teach a young child about loss, about, death, to help them, grieve for the loss of a, best friend???  On the lessons of life and death, translated…

As We Were Feeling Sad that the Young Life is Lost, How Would My Six-Year-Old Young Grandson, Face with Losing His, Best Friend……………

After my eldest grandson came home from school, he kept stating, “after I tell grandpa a story, I will be, filling up the balloons”.  I’d agreed in no time, and waited until he’d finished reading to me, his dad said, it was getting late and they should head home, he’d become, angry, felt that the adults didn’t keep their promises, stressed that he will, fill up the balloons before he heads home.

I couldn’t understand why he was so stubborn about filling the ballons, I’d picked him up and asked, “it’s really late, mom’s waiting for you at home, can’t you fill up the balloons tomorrow?”, suddenly, he got teary eyed, “Yu is gone, I want to give him his, favorite, balloon………”, I’d originally thought he was joking, and I’d, confirmed it with him repeatedly, to see if he was telling me the truth, he’d cried and started, “I’m not lying, grandma…….he really, went to, heaven to be an, angel……….”, suddenly, I’d felt my heart wrenching, while I’d felt bad for the young life that’s, lost, but how will my six-year-old young grandson, cope with his best friend’s, death?  All I could do, is quietly, sat with him, to fill up the white, long, balloons, he said, “I didn’t get to write any words of blessing to Yu, I will have the teacher teach me to tomorrow then.”

illustration from UDN.com

As my eldest grandson left for home, my husband and I decided, to NEVER mention this again, hoping, that it’ll help him, slowly forget this, sad memory.  These two best friends were deeply connected, back when they were in the two-year-classes together, because Yu with the eye conditions couldn’t quite express himself in whole sentences, the teacher assigned my outgoing, active eldest grandson to be his buddy, they were seated next to each other in class, and slowly, they’d turned into, the best of friends.  When my eldest was at home, he’d told us about the progresses that Yu had made, for instance: he’s speaking now, in more complete sentences, he can count from one to ten now, the two built the castles out of blocks, drawn, and other leisure activities together.  In the three years of time shared, any project my eldest grandson had made in my home, he’d told, “I shall give this to Yu tomorrow”.  Yu was also, very popular in the class, this childish friendship, surely, was, precious, and yet, right after the New Year’s, it all came to, a dead, halt.

We’d originally thought, that not talking about death was the best way to help our eldest grandson, but as I saw on the assignment books, the teacher left a two-page note that moved me—the instructor specially selected an illustrated book about death, “The Dinosaur went to Heaven”, to teach the young children about death, and she’d described how on the day as the students went to the funeral, and placed the gifts for the child who was lost; as they went to see the child off, the instructor can no longer, hold back her tears, my eldest grandson was really gentle, consoled with her, and inquired, “Does cremation hurt?”, the teacher told, “Yu is no longer hurting, because he’d received all of your, blessings, he’d gone to heaven, to be, an angel now.”  In the classroom, the class set a special corner to commemorate Yu, with his favorite story, “The Cars Built a House”.

here’s one…image from online

We’re really grateful toward how the instructor had handled this matter so delicately, to educate the young children on the first lessons of death, to help them find an alternative way to grieve that’s different from the adults’ ways.  That day, Yu happily chimed to me on his life story, “long, long ago, I was, one of the happy angels in heaven too, I’d loved turning the clouds into cotton candy, and, eaten them slowly, they’re so very, sweet.  One day, I saw a really, tall building, and I was, so happy I’d spread my wings, soared to the tenth floor window, as the moonlight lit up the skies, I’d, opened the window gently, had, secretly, hidden myself inside mommy’s tummy, that’s how I became………”

On the day life ended, it’s a new beginning for a brand new, journey, I pray, that Yu, in a beautiful heaven, can soar happy and free, like a bird, to find a home that he loved living in.

And so, this is, a lesson, learned, much too early for this young child, he’d lost his, best friend, and, being too young, he’d not known how to express his sadness, his sorrows, his loss, but the school teacher’s reading the illustrated books about the meanings of death to the class, it’d helped this young boy understand, that his best friend isn’t gone, he just, exists in another form to him, as memories.

another book that teaches children about death…from online

Pause in the Broadcast

On how no matter how long it’d been, the grief is still there for us to, experiences, and these, “special occasions” hit the, hardest!  Translated…

When I was preparing the meals, taking care of my young, when I’d needed to mop up the floors, I would, put the radio, on, the soundwaves would then, disperse through the room, and, my children and I became, afloat—in the oceans of my, memories then.  Being in the waters, our skins were, completely, opened up, the messages we’d caught: yesterday, today, tomorrow, like at night before they go to bed, are filled, with the Taiwanese business service ads, that opened up to my winter and summer vacation memories, with that bag on my back, the radio loved to take me to my grandmother who’d been dead and gone a long, long time, I’d told her, “I’m a father now!”; like the afternoon at Central Broadcasting Radio, that announced the Summer Olympics in Seoul, in the Garden New City Community that I lived, the Uncle Chiao I’d met, as I’d stayed with my not-yet-married youngest sister-in-law’s home, he’d come to Taiwan by himself back in 1949, missed out on his own children’s coming of age, that summer, I’d stayed with him to listen to the games, and heard him told me stories of old.

the loss that will, never be, forgotten…photo from online

My thoughts became like the jellyfish, afloat, like that last Christmas morning news radio program that turned the world, upside down, “………this year, the Bethlehem Church will NOT set out any decorations…to place the Baby Jesus in the Stables over the Rubbles, Baby Jesus Born on the Broken Down Walls………”, I’d thought my heart had, stopped beating, like the first, the second, the third fetuses, with the heartrate, suddenly, ceasing to, beat, like my once, unspoken wife, can’t find any words………….At this timed, in that, place, Children’s Holiday, Mother’s Day, and Next Christmas, how do holidays like these, continue to get, celebrated?  While, what I am working on right now, got halted, temporarily.

This is on, how the memories of the DEATHS that impacted you, halted you, right in your, tracks, just when you thought you’d, moved on, you actually, hadn’t, and these particular occasions will always be, the hardest for us who’d lost children have to handle, because, we’re already, reminded of how our children AREN’T here anymore, and on these special occasions, we’d felt, grief attacking us, even, harder than it does, compared to any other, days of the year.

The Air, My Friend

On grief, the loss of a, beloved, pet, how the memories of those furry ones we had, still, stayed, long after they’d been, gone…the column by Jimmi Liao, translated by me…

His Dog Died,

With His House, Filled with, His Scent

And, Memories,

illustration of Jimmi Liao, courtesy of UDN.com

He’d Climbed to the Roof, Basking in the Sorrows of What He’d, Lost,

Because He Worried, that If He’d Cried Aloud at Home,

His Doggy Would Definitely, Hear Him…………………

And so, this is, at the beginning of death, when something you love was, taken from you, and you’re only, starting to, grieve for the love you’d lost, the memories you’d saved, and, because this loss only, recently happened, that’s why, when you think about that beloved doggy, you would, cry, and, it’s going to take a bit, for you, to finally, let go of the loss of this, beloved dog that you’d had, for a long, long time…

The Story of the Alpha Female Hen

Memories of her, childhood, that came back to life in her mother’s elderly years…connecting the two, generations…translated…

Awhile ago, my mother’s backyard had a flock of black-boned hens, with the all-black or all-white feathers on them, while their bones are, all, black, you can’t see their eyes from their, black faces, and their calls were, especially, loud too, they’d started, making the noises, day, and night.

The backyard was their, playground, they’d fed, and done their business there, all the vegetation in my mother’s backyard, completely, cleared, out, not a single weed around.  These males originally, behaved themselves in my mother’s, backyard, and yet, a hen came into the mixtures.  This unique hen, seemed to have been a mix of the wild-raised hens and the free-range, at first, she’d, eaten the feed, behaved herself with the rest, then, started, showing her, wild, side, led the flock of black-boned roosters rushed over to the front lawns to stroll.

illustration from UDN.com

If I’d, started, chasing them away, all the black-boned ones, all rushed in a panic, into the backyard, only that hen stood her ground, still stayed and pecked in the front yard, strolled, leisurely.

Every time around sundown, the black-boned roosters would, stay in the backyard, to sleep, only that hen, flew, high up onto that rack in the front yard, closes her eyes, to rest.  The hen may cared, that she’s living under someone else’s “roof”, and that she’d gone all over the place, she’d felt bad over it, so she’d started, laying the eggs in a set location on the backyard, to give back to my mother, giving my mother fresh eggs.

The hen continued doing its business where we parked our cars, where we’d gone in and out of the house, on the, front yard, made a mess of the environment, and we couldn’t, handle it, so one night, when my mother fell asleep, we placed her into a sack, stuffed her into the trunk fast, and, drove her far away, to release her back to the wild.  After that, we’d, given away the black-boned roosters one by one too, thus, ending the fowl raising history of my mother’s home.

Several months later, as I just pass the automatic entry check at the Taoyuan Airport, I received a text from my family’s LINE group, said that my mother contracted MERS-CoV, worried that if I’d returned, I may catch it too, that I should, cancel my trip home.  But I’d already, prepared, because she was ill, that was why I’d, scheduled the trip home, to care for her.

the memories of the childhood of the writer…photo found online

That enormous living room, the sunlight dying at dusk, my mother was leaning against the window, frail, and weak.  “Thank you for coming back to care for me”, she’d smiled lightly.  Why is she thanking me, at this moment, I just want to, protect her.

Having contracted the virus, my m other didn’t have enough strength in her legs when she walked, her hands trembled too, to the point she couldn’t, eat with a spoon.  I was responsible for feeding her, but she didn’t have enough of an appetite, couldn’t swallow.  I recalled how we’d raised a flock of hens, sometimes, opening the kennels, allowing them to peck the feed in the yard.  At lunch, my mother took out a small stool, told me in a uplifted voice, “come, let’s go see the hens.”, so, the two of us sat in the yard, she’d said, “look, they’re, here.”, I’d tilted my head to look for them, and, the spoonful of food stuffed into my, mouth.  And just like that, a look at the hens, a bite, spoon by spoon, slowly, I’d, finished my, meals.

And so, I’d, copied my mother’s ways, “mom, do you remember that hen that came out of, nowhere?”, she’d nodded, “she’s back her.” She’d, smiled, like she was, seeing that, bully hen again.

And, at this time, I’d, carefully, fed a spoonful of foods into my mother’s, mouth, mom chewed on the foods a bit, I was, secretly, hooraying to myself then.  “she’d flown onto that rack, fallen, asleep now.”, as I’d told, I’d, scooped up a spoonful of food.  I’m calculating, that this bowl of food, with the story of that alpha female hen’s story, I should be able to get her to, eat it all, up.

So, this is the importance of memories in the elderly years, like how this woman, who’s mother lacked the appetite, but when her daughter helped her recalled the alpha female hen they used to have, the mother became, activated again, like something called out to her, and she’d, started, eating again, and the woman was able to help her mother finish her bowl of food intake that her mother needed to, recover.

Seven of the Hamas Leader’s Sons and Grandchildren Died in a Bomb Raid, and He Still Stated: We will NOT Waver

For the cause of what was it again???  Gaining CONTROL of ISRAEL, the insurgent groups are, willing to, SACRIFICE all that they know, to keep their, causes, going on strong?  What does that show???  That people are willing to, let their own flesh and blood DIE, for an, ideology!  Off of the Front Page Sections, translated…

The Israeli-Palestine Conflict is still ongoing, BBC reported, that the leader of the Hamas, Haniyeh confirmed, his three sons and four grandsons died in the air raid of Gaza with the Israeli forces.

Media press related to Hamas claimed, that Haniyeh’s sons were HIT in the refugee camps outside of the city of Gaza.  Haniyeh who wasn’t there stated, that this incident would NOT sway him on the terms or the goals of the ceasefire negotiations.

The news station reported, that Haniyah confirmed that his three sons were in the car, ready to head off to the Muslim Feast of the Breaking Fast, when the car they were in got hit by the missiles from a drone, his three sons and four grandson all died.

Haniyeh issued a statement, and criticized “this attack is cowardice and the act of weakness”, if the enemies think, that as we reached a height in the peace negotiations, murdering my son can change the Hamas’ standing, that’s completely, delusional.”

Haniyeh stated, that the hopes for the future, and freedom is to come from the sacrifices of these, martyrs.  He said, there were, close to sixty next-of-kin of his who’d died in the war, including nephews, nieces, that he’d suffered the same losses as other, Palestinians.

The Israeli military pointed out, that they’d, destroyed three military officials of Hamas in the Gaza region, and claimed that they were Haniyeh’s sons.  But, in the statement, it’d not mentioned of the death of Haniyeh’s grandson.

So, the Israeli’s MURDERING the sons of the head of Hamas only gives him justified reason to keep on fighting, because you’d MURDERED my children, and therefore, I will, try and KILL off ALL of yours, and this war will, NEVER end, which fitted to the western world’s, desires, because the more you guys fight, the more we strike it rich on selling you the arms…

Locking the Memories, in

Losing someone we love, is never easy, especially when it’s due to illness, and the person you loved dearly, had been really watchful of her/his own health, exercised regularly, eaten healthy, taking good care of her/his body, and then, CANCER still, HIT!  But you will, grieve and heal, and grieve, and heal a little, each and every day, until one day, when you think about that person you love so dearly, you don’t feel sad anymore…translated…

I’m afraid, that I might, forget about this one day, that’s why, I’d started, jotting down this, memory.

“When will I get to, leave here?”, “Leave?  You mean away from the hospital and go home?  Sure, certainly, we’d already discussed it with the doctor, these few days, we’ll be, filing for your discharge papers from the hospital, so you can go home to, rest~~~”

“To heaven!”

That was, the final conversation my husband had with, us.  I knew, if it wasn’t that he’d felt, gravely, ill, he who loves us too much, who cherished being alive, will NEVER, have this thought.  That very day, my husband, was, gone.

At the terminal stage of his cancer, I can only imagine, how much pain he must’ve been, in.  In our, hearts too.

Although my husband is very optimistic, and not fought fate at all.  But I’d felt that he was taken from us, way too soon, I’d still asked heavens, to this very day, “what sort of a joke are you, playing on, us all?”

My husband didn’t drink, didn’t smoke, loved exercising, was optimistic, with a great senses of humor, gone to his health checks like clockwork, but he’d, battled it out with his cancer for close to two whole years, then, he’d, died, had he lived for another whole year, he would’ve, made it to his, sixtieth.

Like usual, we’d gone to the E.R., because he wasn’t, feeling, well, we’d hoped, that this time was like all the previous, two, three days’ stay then he would be allowed to, come back home, but this time, he’d, stayed for a whole thirty-six days!  And we’d started, struggling between taking him home to care for him, or keeping him in the hospital to continue his, treatments.  Everybody stated that it’d strained the primary caretaker, but we’d come to know, that the one who’d gotten tried the most, was the, patient himself.

My husband is a good father, amazing husband, and took good care of his body regularly.  So, we had nothing to complain about caring for him.  I sat by the hospital bed, and thought, so long as he’s still with us, even if I have to care for him in the hospital for long period of time, I’d be more than willing, to.

Recalled on the funeral, the announcer stated, “your children are all grown now, this is the time of your better years, and yet, you’d, left………”, and every time I’d recalled this particular passage, my heart would, ache all over, again.

the cycle of grief by Kubler-Ross…found online

My husband retired at age fifty-five, he was already tried by his own blindness.  He’d coexisted with glaucoma for more than twenty years already, although he had two surgeries, his optical nerves never recovered, and finally, it’d, affected his field of vision.  His field of vision started narrowing little by little, in the end, he was diagnosed as severely visually impaired.  I’d already vowed, to take his hand in mind, when he’d needed me, the most, and yet, we were, struck by the lightning of his, cancer diagnosis, and it was, the KING: pancreatic cancer too.  Why are these, two most severe of all conditions, both happened to my, husband?

I can’t see through life and death.

And, the understandings of life and death from a religious angle, don’t help me one bit.

I thought I’d, let go already, and yet, the moment that came next, I’d felt my heart, aching, all over, again, and I can’t control these tears of mine, and I got stuck in this, cycle of, grief.

So many T.V. shows told, after people are gone, they’d become a star high up in the skies.  And so, I’d started, lifting my  head to the night skies, through searching for my husband’s star, to express how much I’d missed him, and hoped, that we can, meet back up again in my, dreams.

So, this is on losing one’s spouse, and it is, too hard, losing someone you’d spent these years of your adult life with, and, you’re still, grieving for his death, which is only, normal, and one day, with the passage of time, hopefully, you will be able to think about him, and, feel no sadness or sorrows, but joys, because of all those years you’d come to share as husband and wife together.

The Red Bean Pastries in the Coldness of Night

On loss, grieving, losing a loved ones, and how we can only, put one foot in front of the other, and keep moving, until one day, the losses and the sorrows, the grief from what we’d lost, is no longer, that strong anymore, and we can, finally, get through the days, slowly…translated…

Although, It’d Been Said, that We Can’t Compare Mourning, but I’m Still in AWE at the Female Owner’s Persistence, while What Touched Me Deeply, was Her Saying that “Life Goes on, if We Live Our Lives Well, then, the Ones We’d Lost Who are Now in Heaven, Will Feel More at Ease, They Won’t Need to Worry Over Us…”……

It was the year, I’d, lost my old dog and my elderly mom, I’d suddenly, lost the focal point in my life.  Nighttime was the time of day I’d, feared, the, most, as the memories of both my elderly mother and my old dog are in the house, to reduce the time that this creeps up on me, I’d, selected to head out to the local middle school tracks to walk.

In the cold of night, I’d, circled around the track, lap after lap after, lap, nobody will note, that I’m, crying as I’m, walking, along.  When it rained, I couldn’t tell if what’s dripping down from my face was the rain or my own, tears, and I’d, become, a zombie like this for, two whole weeks, just, walking around.

That day, I’d just, left the middle school, passing a roadside stand that sold the red bean pastries.  “Hello, would you like to purchase a pastry?  The fillings are oozing out!”, the mildly hoarse voice was, a bit, familiar to me, I’d focused in, it was, the stand owner with whom I’d usually purchased the foods from, don’t know when she’d moved her business here.

illustration from UDN.com

“I hadn’t seen you in quite a long time, from before, you were always out with your mother and your dog, and, every time your dog got to my stand, it’d, refused to, go farther, and had you purchased three pastries, then, it would, move itself, along………”

I’d smiled and nodded, and, tears came, flowing out.

“oh…I know it, and I’m, so sorry!  That’s how life goes, my son………he’d only gotten into a public university just last year, as he’d begun his university career, and only within six months of his entering into university, he’d died in a car crash……and it was, too difficult, for a single mother as I, to accept this.  My son died, can you imagine my loneliness?  As I’d heard the geckos making their noises on the walls of my home, I’d felt, that I wasn’t, alone anymore, I had a gecko as my, company, although, I’d never actually, seen the gecko.  But, the days will go on, if we’re well here, living on earth, then, the loved ones we lost in heaven, they will, feel, at ease too, and they will, be better off.”

illustration from UDN.com

The woman skillfully, flipped the pastry on the iron baking plate, slowly told, like she was, telling me, a tale of old.

Like I usually had, I’d, bought three pieces.  On my way back home, I’d, thought, that no matter what form of losing our parents it happened, it’s, an enormous feel of pain.  My two parents both died in their elderly age, which fitted to the laws of, nature, and, although I’m in grief, I’d felt, assured.  The woman from the food stand, lost her son, this would be, excruciating to her, and there’s that forced necessity to accept the loss as a fact, with the feelings of unwillingness, of how it could’ve happened, and maybe, hate too.

Although, we can’t, compare the losses we’d endured individually, but I’m still, in awe at the stand owner’s stamina, while, what touched my heart were the words of, “life will go on, if we’re well, then, the ones we’d lost who are now in heaven, will feel at ease, and they would be, well too.”

In the coldness of the night, I took a bite out of the hot red bean pastry, certainly, the fillings, oozed out!  Suddenly, I’d recalled how my mom told me to volunteer at the hospital, I’d decided right then and there, that I shall, make the inquiries in the morn.  Lifting my head to the sky full of stars, it will be, sunny tomorrow for sure.

And so, there’s, no specific time it takes, for a person to grief for the losses of the loved ones, and, the writer lost her mother, and the woman who owned the food stand lost her, son, the people they lost may be different, but, the feelings of losing someone we love, and the heart wrenching pains, the heartaches that comes with the losses, are always, unbearable, but we will, move on, eventually, we just, need to, allow ourselves enough time, to grieve fully and properly over the ones we’d, lost.

The Path Back to, Childhood

They played together, grew up together, and now, he’s, at his, younger brother’s, funeral…translated…

Childhood is, an odd sort of a, place.

On my father’s pickup truck, riding toward Hualien, I had two feelings, one, I didn’t know what my father in the driver’s seat, was chatting with my mother on the passenger’s side about, what are they, seeing together, and, the other feel, leaving, Taichung.

Back when I still couldn’t decide where I wanted to go yet, during the summer breaks and winter breaks, I was, always, sent to my maternal grandparents’ in Hualien, and every time we left as a whole family from Taichung, the adults would say, “we’re, returning back to Hualien”; while every time we left from Hualien back to Taichung, they would state, “let’s go back to Taichung!”

And for a very long time, which way is “back” for real, I’d become, totally, confused, on.

My father’s pickup was a 1.75 ton small pickup, after setting it up, it’s roomy enough for a twin-sized mattress, the pillows, the quilts, the snacks, the comic books, and the barf bags, with a small light bulb hung downward, if you pull the tarp down, latched it up, then, it’d looked like, a comfy, small suite.  But it actually, wasn’t, there’s NO air from the inside, not too much to look at, and there was, that scent of, diesel from the engines that transpired in the air.

Back then, the trip back to Hualien or the return to Taichung, it was, too difficult for me, I’d had to, go for rounds of feeling carsick, and barf, several times.

The tarp needed to get latched tightly on, my father told us, that if the truck was moving, we can’t, lift it up, and I’d, always, worked my hardest to sleep the way, waking up, falling asleep until I was, wide, awake and can’t sleep for another, wink, the truck is still, running on the, roads, and I had, no idea where I, was then.

Until the truck ran across the train tracks close to my grandmother’s home, my father would then, slow the truck down, that was, a sign of our, arriving to the destination, no matter what, at this time, I’d, always, waken up, and my younger brother would, run out of, any certain field that belonged to the locals out, chasing behind, the truck, calling out to me loudly.

Older brother!  Older brother!

There’s that, long expected feel of excitement, and a sort of a, familiar to his voice, along with, a kind of fatigue, that I didn’t know how to, put into words as a child, yet.

Hearing my younger brother called out to me, then, I’d, lifted up the tarp then.

He’d only arrived a few short days earlier, and became, a country-raised boy, his vest, shorts, were covered in dirt and mud, barefoot, black in the face, even the knees, were too black they’d resembled that of two coals, only his grins that showed his teeth were, completely, white.

He would chase after the truck, and called out loud, and my father would slow his pickup down considerably, and, as the car started, operating slower than the ox, my younger brother would climb onboard, and sometimes, I’d, automatically, leapt from the truck.  He would pull on me excitedly, told me of the hens that lay the eggs inside grandma’s chicken coup, told me where he’d gone in the fields to dig up all those, yams, told me how many popsicles are left inside the freezer, told me how many fish he’d caught yesterday in the creeks.  Then, I’d, behaved like a city kid, first, afraid of getting the dirt all over me, didn’t DARE to touch, to step in various parts of the land, but shortly afterwards I’d, turned into, that wild one, taken my shoes off, started, running fast through the farm, and, my knees would get, blacker than his two knees.

I can only imagine, that my face was, also, black then too, and, as I’d grinned, my teeth would appear, especially, white, it’s just that I can’t see my self, I only saw, my younger brother.

He was only two years younger, half of his face looked like mine, half of his face, looked like, him, seeing the grins on my younger brother, it was like, seeing, half of my own, childhood.

Later we grew up, and, spread out, started on our, individual, lifepaths, and, we would meet up from time to time, but, never run together, we’d, rarely, headed back to, Hualien together.

I always remembered his grins as he chased after the pickup.

It was, WAY better than that photo of him on his, funeral.

This younger brother, who came two years later than I did, seemed to, rush to, go back, then suddenly, he, did.

During the funeral, I’d, recited the Buddhist verses for him, and, the Buddhist master hosting his funeral kept beating the wooden knocker, in the space, the sounds were, so busy, there’s, no ventilation whatsoever.

After the rituals were over, the noises still, echoed inside my brains, I couldn’t, get rid of the, sounds.  On the way back to the parking lot by foot, suddenly I’d felt, so alone, I really wanted to hear something, so I’d, started, “the sound of the chants, the verses filled up my head now.”

the path back to childhood, you will, NEVER find, again!

photo from online

“Same here”, says my young.

“It’s a wonder, that Chou in The Journey to the West said that the Master, Tang wanted to ask the Monkey King if he’d ever heard the ringing in his, ears.”, I’d told my young.

Originally, they were all, straight-faced, then, they’d started, chuckling, then, grinning, I’d made myself laugh too then.

My original intentions were to laugh, but, weird is, no matter how hard I’d, laughed, I still can’t quiet, squeeze that, teardrop, out.

Leaving childhood, it’s such a, difficult, journey, and you will, NEVER find your ways back, after you’d, left.

So, this is how you’d, lost your childhood, your brother was a metaphor of what your childhood was about, playing in the wild fields, doing all those, things that wild children do, you’d basically had a, childhood in the wilderness with your younger brother as your companion playmate, and now that he’s gone, you’d, lost your only connection, the only association you have of your own, childhood years, and you’d, become, an adult, all of a sudden.  As that’s, the effects of loss, it makes us all, grow up, in a, split, second.

As I’d Picked Up My Daughter Late After the Afterschool Program that Evening

The child’s attitude that changed, after she’d come to realize, how precious having a parent there for her, to pick her up is, after learning about what happened in a fellow classmate’s, life, he’d lost his, mother already…translated…

Seeing how the night is growing deeper, my steps of rushing to the afterschool care program was with the guilt.  I’d gone with my daughter like this every day, rushing into and out of the streets like so, soaking in the same moonlight, but, for the entire day, all we had was, that short hour in the morn after she wakes to be with one another, then we’d become, separated from each other, we couldn’t, even, share our suppers together; due to this lack of connection of our lives, the relationships with my daughter, worsened by the days.

I’d, taken a glimpse at the time, close to EIGHT in the evening already!

Today, my daughter, who had, yet to, adjust to the schedules of the afterschool care program, will she still have that, heartbroken, fatigue face, waiting for me to, pick her, up?  Although she’s already in the, fifth grade, she still couldn’t understand why I must, leave her behind, to send her into the afterschool programs, and had to, wait until the sun’s completely set, to pick her up.  As she got home, she’d continued giving me the silent treatment, locking herself into her bedroom, even on the, weekends too, it’d made me, defeated.

Finally, I’d, arrived at the door of the afterschool program, but, today was, unusually, quiet, peaceful, without the parents coming and going, to pick up their young, nor did I see my daughter, who’d, usually, waited for me at the front desk.  The instructor ran over to me, told me, that because of the exams, the kids all had to review over their academic work, that they would be letting out, later.

illustration from UDN.com

I’d, let out a long sigh of, relief, finally, she wasn’t, the one, waiting for me, this, time.

After a short while, my daughter finally, was, released from the class, I’d thought she would have a sour face, from all the academic load, but she’d looked, especially, peaceful for some, reasons.

As we got into the car, before I had the time, to take a closer look at, her, she’d started, talking to, me.

“Today, the teacher told the third grade boy, Tom’s dad, that the smart watch he’d given to Tom for making the highest grade on the exams was so cool, Pieter who sat next to Tom said with envy, ‘that’s so good!’”, Tom’s dad told Pieter, “when you make the highest grades, your mom will give you one too!”, and up to this, my daughter, paused.

I’d asked her, “then what happened?”, “Then Pieter told him, ‘my mom died in a car wreck.’”

I seemed to have heard that deep inhale from my daughter in the backseat, and stared at me from my rearview, my heart skipped a couple of beats, as she’d told me, that the young boy’s mother had, died.  At this very moment, what we took for ordinary, as things that happen to us every single day, seemed, especially, precious and too far beyond, our, reaches.

After that day, my daughter’s attitude was, completely, changed, even as I’d arrived very late to pick her up, she’d, taken my hand, as we, cross the, intersections.

This is this young child’s, realizing, that having a mom there is a blessing, and the child realized, that her mother had done everything she could, to be there for her, but sometimes, the mother just, wasn’t able to, because of how she needed to provide for the two of them, and, through the classmate’s experiences, the daughter learned, to appreciate her mother more, because she still had her mother with her, to care for her, and not everybody else has that.