Lost

Screens of bamboos stood on guard on one side of the dirt road. Rice grasses swayed like sheets of green silk fluffed by a gentle and invisible hand on the other side of the road. I turned and looked at the other end of the road, only to find the same country scene. Panic, not serenity, hit me in an afternoon filled with pre-storm damp heat.

The seed of decades of nightmare had just been planted. It was the worst kind any kid could have--I was lost.

The singing rehearsal at the radio station had gone well, and we were told to come back the next day. A group of my classmates chosen by the teacher walked together toward the little village settlement while chatting, laughing and teasing. The head of the class was among us, and I was the target of his constant teasing. It must have been puppy love they so lovingly named it. I didn't feel much of the loving to be frank; but then, I was only in second grade.

I made the turn and walked away from the group. He yelled at me over and over: "No, Sarah. This is the way home! Not that one!" I refused to listen, thinking he was teasing me again, and I wasn't going to fall for that.

Now I desperately wanted to reverse that bad decision.

There was not a soul in sight. I had traversed the roads forever and no matter which way I turned, they all seemed familiar at first, and turned into another wrong direction shortly. I was both tired and anxious. My parents would think I was stupid not to follow the group. Worse yet, it was getting dark.

A small house sitting a few yards off the dirt road with a window that glowed warm amber light drew me closer to it. Either my pacing up and down or my sobbing, although I don't remember crying, caught the attention of a man and he walked out of the house. It wasn't difficult to see that I was miserably lost. He invited me into his house.

He had a wife and a little girl close to my age. We might have been going to the same school, but I didn't know her. I didn't refuse the dinner, but I couldn't eat much either. The reaction from my parents worried me the most. I asked them to take me home after dinner, but it started to pour and didn't want to stop. Finally they said I should spend the night there and they would take me home in the morning. There were no streetlights in country side, and nobody owned a car.

I was going to share the bed with their daughter. Just when I was getting ready for bed I heard the faint shouting of my name outside. I jumped up and said: "That's my dad!"

They opened the door and called out to him. There was my father, drenched with water but relieved to see me. He thanked the kind family after scolding me for getting lost, and then we were on our way home.

The dirt road outside had turned into an endless mud path. I was riding on his back, holding on to his neck with both of my arms. It was a surreal feeling forever etched in my memory, as my father seldom held me. I saw the water drops beading down his neck, not sure if they were rain or sweat. I felt guilty for causing so much trouble. I was ashamed for being dumb enough to get lost. However, beneath all those feelings I was also a little happy. It was one of the rare moments I felt loved by him.

My parents complained to the teacher and promptly ended my singing career next day. It made me feel like the biggest idiot in the world. It was many years later that I finally could relate to the anger my parents must have felt. I still blame the boy for my inability to sing karaoke today.

Perhaps I should thank the boy instead. Perhaps, just for a moment, panic also hit my father--thinking I was forever lost. Perhaps he held me a little closer to his heart because of it.

Happy Earth Day

Happy Earth Day!

Crossing

"Hi sweetie. I miss you...”

He touches the glass cover gently. She smiles at him with her warm eyes that are forever frozen on the glossy paper. He took the picture in their last trip together. Her silver mane glows softly against the blue Tuscany sky.

The golden rays of the setting sun make her eyes glisten, as if saying to him, "I miss you, too, darling. Are you taking care of yourself? Have you eaten yet?"

Eaten? He tries to remember, but nothing comes to mind. He doesn't remember much these days. Days and nights seem to roll into one long silent movie, in it him the only actor. He doesn't feel hungry either. Food tastes bland and feels pointless nowadays. He lives for one goal: To be with his sweetie.

She continues from inside the frame and with the tone of a silver bell, “The time is almost here. Did you take care of the business like I reminded you last time, darling?”

“I did, sweetie. I can’t wait for the time to come. We will never be apart again.” He answers gently. His crinkled fingers trace her face like feathers. His eyes twinkle for a second over the thought of holding her once again.

The phone rings bluntly. He thinks it sounds like Jack, their son, so he decides not to get up from the couch.

"Dad? Are you there?" It's Julie, their daughter.

"It's time for dinner, dad, and don't forget your medication." She continues. So he hasn't had dinner. There’s a note in the kitchen somewhere telling him what medication to take after what meal. He’s tired of all the medications he has to take everyday.

"I'll call you later, dad." Julie hangs up with a little worry in her voice.

Julie comes by once a month to sort things out for him, and calls everyday to make sure he’s okay. She has a husband and three kids and her plate is really full.

Jack used to be a good kid. After his fall lately though, Jack and his wife Kate have been pushing him to move to the senior home. He knows what they want—the house, and the ease of their conscience. He doesn’t blame them. He doesn’t want to be a burden if he could help it. Jack calls once a week and each time he asks for a decision.

He doesn’t have one. Not one that Jack wanted to hear anyway.

He doesn’t want to tell him that the house goes to Julie, who has recently lost her job. Jack and Kate will just have to be understanding and make do with their two incomes. Hopefully his small savings will make them less resentful after he's gone.

He always had the mental image of growing old with his wife, but fate has a different plan for him.

“It’s better this way, sweetie. I know now.” He says lovingly to the smile in the picture frame. “It’s not much fun growing old alone. I hate to think this would be what you had to go through if I went first.”

All affairs are in order. He checks his letter to the kids and feels completely calm. I’m ready, sweetie. It’s been long enough. I want to be with you and it’s time. I have waited so long. I don’t want to spend another day without you.

*  *  *

The woman opens the door and yells, “Mr. Stafford , are you home? It’s Wednesday—the cleaning day.”

The house feels hollow and cold. She looks around and sees the framed picture on the couch. She picks it up and puts it back on the coffee table.

“Strange. I always thought the picture had only Mrs. Stafford in it…“ She shrugs to herself and proceeds to the kitchen, calling “Mr. Stafford?”

The elderly couple in the picture smiles silently and happily, their silhouette forever frozen in the frame.

(Artwork done by Emily Tai)

In Her Shoe

The leaves on the ash trees outside the window rustle gently in the morning breeze. It’s too early for the ocean on the horizon to show off its turquoise shimmers, but you know it’s there. The cool, damp air and the waves of salty sea kelp smell constantly remind her of it.

It’s still new and strange to her. She grew up on a tropical island where the beach and the sea water were always warm and welcoming. Here, you can barely put your feet in the edge of the water before you have to hastily retreat and wipe the beads off of them. Frigid water does not spell welcome to her since her first attempt.

Tara’s unhappy and disapproving face comes back to her. She gets up to refill her tea mug, trying unsuccessfully to fill her head with a different image. She tells herself it's only a dream.

Tara--always the sentimental and considerate girl of the two who was the carbon copy of her own image. They are completely identical in looks and yet opposite in every other way. Tara loved small animals, while she thinks they are too much of a bother. Tara loved poems and sunset, while she couldn’t understand why.

A walk on the beach with Matt the third day after she arrived changed her mind. With Matt’s big and warm hand holding hers, the sunset at the end of the ocean looked mesmerizing in spite of the cold wind. That must have been what Tara meant, she thought to herself. Love changes everything to the brighter, better, and prettier perception. For the first time romance didn’t feel like a laughable idea.

She didn’t come here to fall in love--she argues with herself. She came with a promise to Tara. Matt was so happy to see her that words were lost in his embrace. She smiled and didn’t deny when he called out, “Tara!” and the masquerade was on. It’s too late to go back now. Tara’s tearful and fervor words still ring in her ears: Promise you will go there and tell him in person. Promise you will make sure he’s all right. I’m all he has, Darla. Don’t let his heart break.

Tara died the day they took her to the hospital. They never found out who hit her with what kind of car. She was exhausted after comforting her parents and taking care of the funeral. All she could remember was Tara’s last words when life was rapidly pulling out from her, so she made the journey. She knew Matt before she met him. Tara loved him with all she had, and it showed in the letters she wrote to Darla. Matt is not perfect, she wrote, but he is perfect for me. Darla remembered thinking to herself “I’ll give it six months” in her usual lighthearted and sarcastic way.

The sixth month never came. Tara’s vacation in her hometown turned into a bottomless nightmare, with renewed grief greeting her everyday. Darla grieved for Tara’s death, and for the happiness Tara lost. Falling in love with Matt was completely unexpected.

Did you hear that, Tara? I didn’t do this on purpose. I just couldn’t hurt him with your death. I didn’t have a choice. I see what you saw in him. He loves you without reservation. He nurses me patiently so I could gain the weight back, of which I blamed on the heat and the long journey. He made it so easy to love him. The only thing to do was to kill Darla, and that’s what I did.

“Morning.” Matt kisses her from behind and wraps his arms around her. He buries his face in the dip of her collarbone and whispers, “Did I tell you I love you?”

She closes her eyes and says, “I love you, too, Matt.”




(Happy Easter Everyone!)

 

The Visit - Part 8

(About ten years ago mom went back to her home town and reunited with her remaining family. The temple in the background used to be her elementary school. It has always been a temple.)

I woke up in a quiet house and started bawling. I’m leaving tomorrow and mom will be on her own again. I’m worried sick to think she has to do everything herself in her frail condition. There’s a limit how much friends can help, and mom hates to bother her friends. I can’t move here for a couple of reasons. It’s hard for her to move in with me for a couple of reasons. I felt gutted with no feasible solutions in sight.

We talked about it after mom got up. We both thought the senior home would be the last resort. Moving in with me would be the best way to go. I will go back and get things in order. I may have to sell my house and get a ground level unit to accommodate her mobility issues. I’ll have to think about the financial part of it. I felt a little better.

I made mom practice the buttons on the new radio we bought yesterday. She got frustrated by the buttons last night that she lost temper and wanted to return it. I assured her new gadgets nowadays were all alike--they are getting more and more complicated. Besides, this is the only model they have that plays cassettes. The only thing to do is to be patient (a real challenge for mom) and practice.

I encouraged her to do the exercise recommended by the therapist. She said she’d been exercising for forty years and look at her now. She’d rather die, she said. She does the bicycle pedaling everyday for forty-five minutes, but sits in front of the TV for the rest of the day. The stomach exercise is the most important one--it helps her stand steadily and upright, thus reduces her risk of falling. I’ll have to call her twice a day: once in the morning to remind her about the stomach exercise, over which she will no doubt have a fit, and once before bedtime to check on her.

I counted the capsules and tablets she takes everyday. There are fourteen bottles and about forty pills a day. Only one of them was prescribed by her doctor. All the others are either vitamins or supplements with magical powers. I worried about her vitamin A intake, which exceeded daily allowance by about one thousand eight hundred MCG. She told me she’d been taking it for years, and my worries were complete nonsense. I read all the effects of vitamin A overdose to her. She finally agreed to reduce the dosage by half. Maybe the one about hair loss got her attention.

Mom asked me if there were doctors in my area. I said why no, we use voodoo rituals to cure diseases. Surprisingly, she didn’t get mad. I felt bad for being a smart aleck.

The lawyer turned out to be a disappointment. She neglected to tell us a couple of things, and the fee subsequently increased to over one thousand dollars. Mom said forget it unhappily, then she got up and left. We forgot to ask if we owe the lawyer any fees for the tiny amount of work she had done so far. Mom didn’t think we owe her anything.

I’m still torn by the question of where she should live. The best choice for her is to stay here, but that means I have to somehow find work in her area so I will be readily available to her. I hate making decisions.

* * *

The taxi was a little late. Several times mom wanted to go back and call the company. I didn’t remind her with the fact that she didn’t speak a word of English. I stopped her each time and told her I had hours to kill at the airport, so five minutes was nothing.

She stayed at the building entrance as I ran out in the rain to the taxi. We waved briefly and the taxi pulled her out of my sight. I talked to the driver nonstop so I wouldn’t start crying again. I found out his original country, his educational and work background, and his near future plans.

There are choices to be made and none of them is easy. The best one seems to be for mom to stay in her house and for me to go there. That means I have to give up my life as I knew. Am I ready for it? I lost count of the times I cried during this visit. I will likely lose count of the times we fight over little things if we live together.

The minute houses laid out in neat square patches below the clouds. I looked at the picturesque land below and wondered how much sorrow filled how many houses down there. I used to think the view from the airplane windows were magnificently beautiful. I know now there are untold stories, some gut wrenchingly sad, are being played out as I write.

The Visit - Part 7

We decided to attend the sisterhood worship on Tuesday. More than one person at church told me how impatient and stubborn mom was. I was a little embarrassed at mom’s commenting on people’s age and looks. I guess there’s no other meaningful topics for people over eighty to discuss? But when another woman joined mom and they used the words such as “really ugly” "how shameful” “so appalling” and “why do we hire a cripple (for a minister)” I really wanted to scream. We were in a church for God’s sake!

Mom gets very angry if I say anything about it. She didn’t think there’s anything wrong with it regardless how many times I reminded her. I knew she was upset as the “eleven” lines appeared between her brows. The fact that she uses a cane does not stop her from calling others “cripple.” I’m not sure if I should be angry or laughing.

Lunch was served at church after the sisterhood worship. I got a plate of food for mom. She got soup, dessert, water for herself. When it comes to food mom doesn’t share, wait, or care about others. I think it rooted from her childhood when she first went through famine, then had to eat among bombing and running to shelters. If you didn’t eat fast, you didn’t eat. I don’t understand why she couldn’t outgrow it after sixty years of living in peace time. This is also the reason she couldn’t lose weight. She eats way too fast and too much--as if Japanese soldiers were about to march in any minute now.

I thought we should drive by the senior facility to check out the branch of mom’s bank. She flat out refused it when I mentioned it before church--for no obvious reason. A couple of days before she insisted on there was no such thing; that the one branch she banks with was the only branch they had. Equally, for no obvious reason, she decided to go after church, but not before telling me I didn’t know how to read a map when I was checking the route. She had never been able to read a map or tell directions.

It was a good thing that I apologized to most of her friends about her temper and her verbal assaults, and it was a good thing that they all knew about it and seemed to be pretty understanding. It was an extremely good thing that most of her friends were from the church.

We found the bank and went in to see if they had anybody speaks her language. Thank heavens they did. The drawback is the bank is located on a busy street. Driving and parking may be problematic for her.

If mom doesn’t pass the driver’s test in July, she will have to use her transport card. So far she prefers to stay in her own house, which is completely understandable. Senior housing will be option 2. Me calling her everyday will be essential, and not an option anymore.

A neighbor lives upstairs came check on mom after dinner. She saw mom’s car parked in the same position for days and got worried. She didn’t know I had been driving. Apparently mom’s parking skill is also well known.

The Visit - Part 6

We looked high and low for the house purchase contract and title for the lawyer’s appointment later today. She had a copy in the envelop marked “House purchase papers” but she thought that was the wrong one, so we looked for an hour. Then we were told that that was the paper we needed.

I found a prayer notebook on the bookshelf. Out of curiosity I flipped through it. She wrote down her morning and evening prayers on it. They were for her favorite political party, her health, her temperament, her friends. But among her three children, only my half brother’s name appeared frequently. I didn’t see my name or my sister’s.

I asked her why. She played her senile card and pretended she didn’t know what I was talking about.

I was hurt for an hour or so, then I went into her room where she started writing down things I should do after she passes. I wrote on a piece of paper: “Don’t worry, mom. I will try my best to find my brother and give him whatever you want to give him after you‘re gone. If necessary I will go back to Taiwan to do this. Your daughter.”

She obviously worries a lot about him but doesn’t want to admit it. I figure that’s the least I could do to calm her mind. I’d like to think she still remembers me in her prayers. She just didn’t write it down.

Today is the first day of meal delivery. She called to ask where the food was around 12 o’clock. I told her the window was between 11:00 to 1:00, but she never had any patience and still doesn’t. I was still cooking some spinach when she wolfed down her meal, and asked me to change the delivery to three times a week.

We went and got the doctor to sign the form so she could apply for discount transportation. We also visited the lawyer referred by her friend and the papers will be ready on Wednesday. Another fruitful day.

The Visit - Part 5

It’s the senior’s worship day today (Saturday). I met and greeted a lot of elderly people in church, where everybody knew mom. An elderly gentleman came to chat next to us, who were sitting down. All of a sudden, and to my utter horror, mom reached out and slipped half of her hand into the gentleman’s pant zipper saying, “Hey, you forgot to zip up!” I slapped her hand without thinking and at the same time yelled, “Don’t touch that!”

For a second our roles completely reversed. Not that I ever did what she did when I was a kid.

The gentleman laughed and said not to worry, that he and mom had known each other for a long time. Then he zipped up in front of us. I thought to myself yeah, I’m sure you’ll be happy if anyone wants to touch your “you know what.“ For some reason his hand on mom’s shoulder, while moving and rubbing it, irritated me immensely.

I thought about it some more and I think I know why.

Chinese do not touch. The older ones, that is. Mom barely hugged me when she first saw me in two years. Actually, it was more like she endured my hug to her. He was an old man, so he should know better than that. This was borderline molestation!

Mom made arrangement to meet with a realtor friend at a McDonald after church. I showed my stubborn side by refusing to eat there. We got into our separate cars and went to a different place to eat. I’ll have the word “idiot” tattooed on my forehead before I put any junk food in my body when I’m in a town with fine Chinese cuisine everywhere. Did I mention mom was stubborn, too?

The realtor friend answered some questions we had about mom’s property. I think we need to meet a lawyer on Monday. He will arrange that. Friendship here is often hinged on mutual business interests. He had sold a townhouse to mom during her relocation fever. It’s kind of like the clownfish and the sea anemone.

Highlight of the day: mom commented on how her sixty-eight-year old friend looked younger than me. She must be a very special friend.

The Visit - Part 4

The bather is coming today (Friday). Mom asked me to first cancel it, then to change the time yesterday. I asked for the phone number but she didn’t have it. The bather will call before coming over, which is of course too late to change anything. She couldn’t give me a reason why she wanted to change it though. She decided to bathe herself, so I helped.

We left for the Red Cross before the bather called. I hope she didn’t get worried and call mom’s emergency contact, whoever that may be.

Before we left, we decided to have an argument first. Her “nice temper” made a guest appearance.

“Where’s the 2008 tax return paper?” She asked.
“It’s on the coffee table.” I picked it up and handed her the envelop.
“It’s important paper. I need to give this to Michelle to do my tax this year.”
“Mom, it’s the 2008 tax. It’s already done.”
“How could it be done? I haven’t given her the paper yet.”
“You need to give her 2009 paper to do the tax, not 2008.”
“Nonsense! This is 2010. We do the tax for 2009, so we need the paper from 2008.”
“What? Nooo….” I was baffled by her logic. Did they change the tax rules when I wasn’t paying attention?
“What do you mean no? That’s how it’s done every year!” She was irritated. Her brows were arched high and her look said “you’re an idiot” to me.
“No, you get the 2009…”
“Don’t tell me no!” She refused to listen and raised her voice.
“Mom! This is 2010, you need the income statements from 2009 to do the tax.”

We went through this chronological intrigue several times. Each time she got angrier and louder. Finally she said, “But how can I do the tax? I don’t have the papers!” As if that was the point of our “discussion.”

“That’s why we went to the social services yesterday--to request the duplicates.” How could she not remember? We did this less than 24 hours ago.

She looked at me and, for a second, I thought she was going to argue again, but somehow she decided otherwise. I went inside to change. When I was walking away I heard her murmuring to herself “2009, 2008...?”

Red Cross told us we needed a doctor’s referral to rent a walker. Naturally we didn’t have it. I did get a list where we could purchase one and we decided to get one instead. We found the store and their walkers looked very nice--if “nice” is a proper word to describe walkers. She told the salesman it was too expensive and we left empty handed. I apologized to the salesman, but I couldn’t fault her for being price weary. Truth is, I’m the same way--I see it as a virtue. We went to a discount store and came home with a cheaper walker. I put it together and she tried it out in the house. She seemed happy with it, but it felt sturdy and that was most important.

We looked through her piles of pictures. To some I said yew! I don’t like that person. She lectured me on how we shouldn’t hate, because Christians aren’t supposed to hate. This came from a person who stopped talking to her own brother when he was alive, or to his family who are alive, or to her own two other kids?

Right now I’m tempted to get a job and move here so she doesn’t have to leave her house, or live among strangers. I also know this is the overwhelming emotion I’m experiencing. Getting along will be a challenge in the long run. I probably won’t be able to find work here for quite some time. And just like her, I like my town very much.

On the other hand, how many years does she have left? I may never have a second chance, and the thought of it brings on a feeling that begs for a new word for “awful.”

The Visit - Part 3

We set out to get her missing papers needed for this year’s tax return straighten out by paying a visit to the local social services. I suspect she had received, and misplaced, these papers, but I wasn’t going to argue with her. It would be a lot easier to request duplicates. I got the directions from the internet because she had no clue where it was. We got there and she said she had been there before to get her passport. I said why didn’t you tell me this, she said she didn’t know it was a government’s building.…

We put in the request and went home, but not before making a detour to the Red Cross to rent a walker--she was not supposed to use a cane according to the health consultant. They were closed. Upon finding out they only worked half a day each day, I wondered out loud if I should get a job there.

We tried again to look for the missing 2008 tax returns. She said she put them away with specific care. I think it must be the Murphy’s law. She found a stack of letters from me, dating from my school years. I read in amazement how detailed I wrote her about my life, most of them I have forgotten or would rather forget. It appeared that I have always been a wordy kid on paper. Is that why I have a blog?

There was one in which I complained about how she hurt my feelings with her careless and constant criticism. This was last year when I figured I was finally old enough to tell her how I felt. I regretted sending it right afterwards. Here came the chance for redemption--I threw it away while she wasn‘t looking.

I had just thrown her letters to me out while getting the room ready for her. In my defense, her letters were all very short and non emotional. I saw how she didn’t express positive feelings, verbally or otherwise, was inline with her upbringing. Sometimes I wished she had a different upbringing.

I spotted a big envelop with “08 tax” on it and opened it. Viola! Instead of the regular envelop she has been using for tax papers, she used a different one for this particular year for no particular reason. Mystery solved. I called the health consultant and gave her the information.

The meals delivery services called me back. I set her up for lunch delivery starting next Monday. I think I will get the phone shopping service for her as well. She will get a phone call once a week to get her grocery list, and someone will buy and deliver the grocery to her.

It was a fruitful day. Now we need to make a decision on the facility. Not surprisingly, she’s having second thought.

(I'm visiting my mom to take care of things needed at this time. As a result I have limited time to read or comment on my beloved blogs. All should resume to normal in another week.)