Home, Sweet Home

My husband is out on business; I am left alone at home. Having been far away from my hometown for years, a short separation is nothing to me. But just before the Mid-Autumn Festival, when every household was having a reunion, Father died. That day, cold pierce wind prevailed the city of Tianjin. In the aftermath of it, I would unconsciously walk to the telephone to make a call to my father, only to find there was no one to answer it. Tears ran down my face, I realized that I had lost my father, as well as my mother, and become nobody’s child now.

Pursuing studies and making a living in Tianjin far from my parents, I had cherished the hope of taking over responsibilities from my parents, and supporting them when they were advanced in age. It was far beyond my imagining power that both of my parents’ lives were cut in their prime time. Mother had suffered from cancer, with all my might and main, experts could not play miracles as well to bring her life back. That night, lying in bed in the tumor hospital, her throat rumbling with sputum, she was out of breath. Only when she breathed her last, she realized that she was about to part with her relatives forever. She must have something on her mind for us to learn, but she was speechless. Tears running down her face, she turned her head aside on the pillow, hence the end the fifty years of her life, during which she had labored and toiled for all her four children. Standing by her, I was at a loss as to whether this was real or not. Had mother been separated from us forever? Half an hour passed before I burst in tears.

I learned about Father’s illness in last August, when I was working day and night preparing for the reporting assignment of the fiftieth anniversary of the founding of the PRC. Since I could not throw the burden on others, I had foolishly believed that, with my sisters and brothers tending by his ill bed, his health would not deteriorate. Then I would be home without any delay when I had finished my reporting work. Yet, late at night on the 23rd of September, I received phone calls telling me Father’s life was in danger and under rescue; at about one o’clock words came from my sister, sobbing, that Father had died of cerebral hemorrhage, with the final regret of not having seen me. Despairingly, I put down my phone, buried myself in the quilt, crying out of breath. Back to my hometown in a great hurry, I felt only a growing pain. Each time I saw his photos, I could not help crying. At night, we were all wide-awake, yet none of us dared to mention anything about Father. In the dark, four lost souls, wandering about in the wilderness, must have the same feeling, the feeling that our most beloveds had left us, once and forever.

In last May, unable to get accustomed to the life in Beijing, Father went back to Hunan, accompanied by my elder sister. On the way home they made a visit to me in Tianjin. Exuberated, I showed my Father round the new house I bought for him. I saw him beaming with happiness. He pointed to one bedroom and said, “I will choose this bedroom.” Soon, he asked me when it could be decorated. Before I replied, he eagerly expressed that he would help with the decoration, since I was busy and in ill health. Soon, he inquired me, in a hurry, how much I had borrowed to buy the house and what time I could pay the debt off. Then he told me that I should not send any money to him, for he did not have large expenditures. When we returned home, behind my sister, he told me that he would not live with me for long because he had high blood pressure, and if he was paralyzed, that would be a heavy burden on me. He said since we were busy with work, how could I have time to take care of him. If he was struck with illness, none of us could afford the cost. I was deeply moved but became cross at his words that one of us could support him. I asked him, “Can’t all of us four support you, even if you should be paralyzed? ” Seeing that I was angry, he patted on my hand, saying, “I know you are good to me, but anyway I will not live with you for a long time. ” Realizing that I couldn’t persuade him to stay, I said to him, “Have you found a suitable companion? If there is one, you must consider. And if she is kind and honest, you’d better get married again. ” Father told me, “There is no suitable one by far. Those who are in ill health, I am afraid, may become a burden on you; those who are in good health, I fear that I would be her burden. Now that I have got used to living alone, I feel more free and convenient. ”

All this happened some months ago, but it seems as though it had happened yesterday.

When father returned to Hunan, we often visited with each other through telephones. His first question would be, “Have you had your meal?” At about 8 or 9 o’clock in the evening, he would urge me to go back for some dinner. He would say, “Why are you always working so late? You can go on working but you must go back for supper first. If you have stomach trouble, how can you go on with your work?”

Father had in mind the birthday of all his children, even his son-in-law. On each birthday of them, he would send his blessings through telephone. I was the apple of my father’s eye. On my birthday, he would send me a musical postcard, on the cover of which there was a picture of the Hong Kong singer Zhou Huimin. Father thought that I resembled Zhou in some way and bought dozens of these postcards. Whenever there was a special occasion, he would send one to me, together with his affection and blessings for me.

One regret that makes me unable to feel at ease was that last January, I had a quarrel with Father. Father told me that he had found a satisfactory partner, and planned to hold a wedding; he asked if I could return to Hunan to attend. Thoughtless, I scolded him, asking if it was proper for him to do so, because Mother had just been dead no longer than a year. I repeated that none of us were object to his getting married again, but all thought it would be a year later. Kept taciturn for a while, Father put down the telephone, and put aside his hope to find a partner to accompany the rest of his life. Afterwards, he never mentioned getting married again. When my sister asked her friend to help him find a partner, he did not agree. Living in lonely solitude, he still said to me through telephone, “Xianghua, your eyes are sharp. Now I see clearly that the lady is not a person who can run a house. ” But I know he said so only in order to make me feel better. He still loved her.

Whenever I looked back on this, I felt sorry for it. I should have known better as to help my Father live a happier life, but I didn’t. How can I deprive him of his happiness with that weak excuse? Father, how I have wished you could appear in my dreams and reprimanded me! Otherwise, I would live with the endless sorrow and regret.

After Father’s Funeral, I stayed in the house in which he had lived for fifty years. Twenty days later, I left my hometown and went back to Tianjin. For a long time since then, I never accepted my friends’ invitations to eating out, for I always had the feeling that Father was still alive; that Father was always by my side. How could I feel relaxed? On some nights, I would stare at the ceiling, lost. Once when my husband asked me jokingly, “What are you pondering on? Are you thinking about job or some state affairs again? ” I replied, “None of these. Tonight, I only think of my father. ”

Written by Zhou Xianghua, Tianjin Daily   Nov.12, 1999