I walk into my parent's house at 11 AM today and settle my things next to the coffee table where all of my mom's meds and supplies are situated. I notice that my dad's medication log book is open. I take a glance, as I always do, to catch up on the night's activities. I see this excerpt.
4 AM: She wants water and don't let me hold the cup. said: "you stand aside" but when she drank, she spilled half cup of water. I've got to change her pans (sic), shirt, bed sheet. She just like a child, making mistakes and quietly sitting on the reclining chair. When things done She and I all sleep back on our own bed. She said clearly "Sorry, DaDa." I haven't hear that voice for long time, I cried.
It's so hard not to melt down. I knew my parents loved each other dearly, and I'm full of hatred at this terrible infliction that's robbing them of continuing their love story.
I've memorized that story. Time and time again. They were in high school together. They were friends back then, cause God forbid, young (romantic) love was just about as toxic as capitalism in their world (or so the Communists say). They were friends and nothing more. My Dad was the shy upperclassman. He sported a thick pair of glasses and kept his nose buried in the books. They'd call him "3rd study" which was apparently a knock on his glasses - being the 3rd thickest pair in the class. He actually had a second nickname "Mut See" which is some sort of slang being shy. My dad later told me that it was his friends calling him a "Missus" My mom was 3 years his junior, but every bit as feisty as the upperclassmen. She was born to lead, and ambitiously took on being the class president at the ripe age of 13. The two of them shared a large group of mutual friends. All kinds of characters that I've heard my Mom and Dad describe in wild animation over the past 3 decades. There was Mao See (which in Cantonese, directly translates to "cat shit"). Their group of friends would go to his house and belt out his name at the break of dawn and everyone thought it was hilarious. There was Tsui Fu Jun (which in Cantonese, directly translates to "take off your pants Jun") who, if my memory serves me correctly, was actually their PE teacher, a somewhat shady character. And of course Po Chun, my mom's best friend and my Aunt Paula, who I met in person in 2007 for the first time. The auntie who kicked my Dad off his bed to spend the night with her bestie during our Canada trip in 2015. These people and their character profiles each filled a part in my parents' love story. At least vividly, in my mind.
My Grandma knew from the start that my Dad would be a good one. My Mom would later recount to me that even on her deathbed, my Grandma made sure that she knew that my Dad was a good one. Fast forward a decade later, both had made it to America. Neither had a future in China under communist rule for the types of families they came from. So America it was.
And that's where the "love" part of the story started. Somewhat, NOT romantically. You could say that it was a bit transactional. My mom was 29 and my Dad was 32 at the time that they reunited in the States. Back in that time, that was considered, well, ancient.
In her own words, "we just looked at each other and we knew........that we're getting old so it's time to have children." Yeah, real romantic.
My Dad never actually proposed to my mom. They were dating long distance for some time, while my parents both attempted to finish college - my Dad in Oregon and my Mom in New York. She came to visit him one week and on the drive to the airport, he quietly said to her "don't go."
It's 2 PM. Everything has settled down for the afternoon. The dishes are put away. The hospice nurse already left. The laundry is done. The noisy kids outside have come and gone. He's settled on the couch next to my mom's hospital bed. His eyelids are getting heavier, due to the fatigue from the eventful night before. But you can peer into his soul behind his black-rimmed glasses. You have to wonder what he's thinking. I know he's wishing "don't go."
<3
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