by Lori Qian
“Yeah, how ’bout Mom? Is she driving you nuts or are things okay?”
I asked this because Mom and Chrissy had an interesting relationship. They were very alike in some ways—loved the same movies and books and enjoyed each other’s company—but at the same time, Chrissy had always felt invisible next to me and resented Mom’s focus on me. So there was tension sometimes. Also, Mom was just a character—increasingly so as she was getting older. I’m sure it was hard for Chrissy to live there and hear about Mom’s aching back, sore feet, and hemorrhoids.
“It’s pretty good,” Chrissy said. “We’re just hanging out tonight watching movies. We ordered pizza.”
It was funny to hear that they’d ordered pizza. I remembered when that was a regular occurrence for us. There was a period of time in which this was how we spent our Friday nights, or even weeknights if nobody had to work. We’d get movies from Blockbuster with money we didn’t really have and order pizza, also with money we didn’t really have. I don’t recall us going out for a walk, or interacting much with other families. We just sort of hunkered down and almost hid ourselves away most of the weekend, going out only to go to church on Sundays. It wasn’t always like that for us, I knew, but in the recent years leading up to my moving to China, I remembered so many weekends like that. I think we were kind of depressed, really, and that was our escape.
I contrasted this with the meals William and I ate together. He came over for dinner almost every night these days, but there was always planning beforehand. We would go to the vegetable market together, think about what we were going to cook, and buy the veggies and herbs. Then we’d go buy the meat. Then we’d bring the items back to my apartment and start the process. Often we’d listen to music in the background and talk as we washed, chopped, and cooked.
I had never spent so much time preparing a meal in my life as that first home-cooked meal with William, yet this had now become my norm. Even after this short time dating, on nights that we didn’t have dinner together, I still followed this pattern on my own. I liked it. A lot. It felt good. It felt healthy and positive, and it was fun. So much care and preparation went into the shopping, washing, chopping, and thinking about the meal. William was very concerned about preparing things that were “good for health.” My whole perspective about food and what it meant to eat a meal had changed in a short time. I felt normal, and I wondered if this was what most families did.
“Anyway.” Chrissy sighed. “I’ll put Mom on with us.”
“Hi there, China girl,” Mom said in her overexcited voice.
She was so precious, but at the same time it was hard to know to what extent she lived through me. She had experienced so many challenges in her life, and during these telephone conversations I always realized just how proud of me she really was.
We started out by talking about Dad, the nursing home, and plans for his care. In retrospect, it was sort of odd to go from that topic to my romance, but at the time I just couldn’t wait to tell them and really, there would never be a time when things were going great there. I knew I would always feel that it wasn’t the right time. So as talk about my dad petered out, I just went for it.
“Well, I have some news for you guys.”
“Oh, what is it? What’s going on?” Mom asked excitedly.
“Yeah, what’s up?” Chrissy chimed in, her voice perking up.
“Well, I think I told you a little about William, one of the guys I work with. We’re actually seeing each other now.” It didn’t sound adequate. I felt like there should be some special word for what we were experiencing. “Seeing each other” didn’t seem to cut it.
“Oh,” Mom said, her tone less excited this time. “And is he Chinese?”
“He is,” I said. “He’s from Hubei province, which is a bit north, and he’s just . . . amazing, Mom.”
“Uh-huh,” she said. I could tell she was trying to sound positive, but was a little overwhelmed at this news. Nothing, however, could have prepared me for her next question. I could understand her asking if he was Mormon, what kind of family background he had, or even what sort of income he had, but what she asked instead was, “So, is he a communist?”
“Mom!” Chrissy shouted, half laughing.
I just started laughing—half out of shock at first, but before I knew it I was full-on belly laughing, and suddenly my mom and Chrissy were, too. The three of us couldn’t stop.
Finally, after I’d laughed so much my stomach hurt, I answered her. “No, Mom, he’s not. He was raised with that background but he doesn’t consider himself a communist.” I knew it would take me a while before I would be able to think about her question without laughing. “Mom, he’s just . . . I’ve never known a better person than William. It’s as if words to describe him haven’t yet been invented. He is humble without being weak and strong without being macho. He is sweet without being sappy and optimistic without being naïve. He is a gentleman in every sense of that word—thoughtful, respectful, and gentle. He does things because he loves me and not because he wants recognition.”
“Okay, so you like the guy!” Chrissy said in a teasing tone. “We get it already.”
I hadn’t even realized I’d gone on and on. It was hard to describe William because I knew no words would do him justice.
We finished our conversation and then I called Barb to tell her the same things. It was fun to say this out loud. It was real. When Barb used the term “boyfriend” about him, I had to laugh, but then I realized that indeed, that was what he was. I had a boyfriend named William.
chapter 24
Before I knew it, it was December. My family had been updating me on Dad’s condition and I had planned to come home for Christmas. On an early December morning when Barb called and told me how bad he was, though, I knew I needed to go right then.
“Hello?”
“Lori, it’s Barb. I know it’s the middle of the night there but . . .” “Never mind that, how is Dad? Did . . . did something happen?” “Lori, you need to get home. His body is just shutting down so fast. He . . .”
Barb’s voice broke after that and I could hear her sobs as if she were right next to me.
“Don’t worry, Barbie, I’ll get there. Tell him to hold on, Please. I love you.”
I hung up.
It was four o’clock in the morning and a group of friends were on a weekend getaway a couple of hours outside of Guangzhou. Along with William and I, there were 4 other couples and we’d all had a great day exploring the area and enjoying some nature. Barb’s call shook me. I couldn’t do a thing for the moment. So I paced back and forth, and, as an attempt to gain a small degree of clarity and peace, I prayed.
A few hours later, William and I finally caught the first bus we could to Guangzhou. As we set off, I called Kassie and my family while William called the airlines. Of course, it was complicated to get my flight changed and we spent a lot of time on the phone. Incidentally, I had never been as grateful for technology as I was at that moment. I didn’t realize it at the time, but it later dawned on me that I had called Chicago from the countryside of China on a mobile phone (in 2001 this was something)!
Once we’d made the necessary arrangements, William and I rode along in silence for a while, both of us reflecting on the events to come. I was thinking about what I’d been taught my whole life at Sunday school—the afterlife, heaven, God, all of it. It occurred to me that I had no idea what William thought about all of this.
“William, I’m just wondering. What do you think happens when we die?”
“What do you mean? You mean like funerals and traditions?”
“No, I mean like our spirits. Like heaven, an afterlife. Do you believe in any of that?”
He thought for a minute, then said, “To tell you the truth, I think death is the end. That’s it.”
I nodded, taking it in, thinking it through. I could see why people thought that. I never had, but only because I’d been taught otherwise.
“What about you?” he asked. “What
do you believe?”
“Well, I hope that there is life after death. I feel like there is because I believe there is a God. I don’t know exactly how it all works, and I don’t need to. But for me, I need to believe that. I guess I have faith that our spirits live on somehow.”
He listened carefully, studying my face as I spoke.
“It’s interesting,” he said.
We went on to talk about God, life, death, my dad, and both of our families. I understood why William felt the way he did. If I hadn’t been brought up in my faith, it would have been natural to believe that death was absolutely final. Talking with William reminded me of all that I did believe and hope—and explaining it to him, while listening to his ideas as well, made me feel these things on a deeper level.
When we arrived in Guangzhou, I went to my office to take care of a few things. William packed my bags for me and managed to get my ticket changed. Before I knew it, I was off to the airport and off to America.
Twenty hours later I landed at O’Hare International Airport. I grabbed my luggage, and raced out the door to where my brother-in-law, Bill, was waiting in his truck. We said our hellos as he sped away.
I couldn’t believe I was actually just forty minutes away from the hospital. Bill couldn’t drive fast enough for me. I wanted nothing more than to see my dad and have him see me. I wanted him to know I had come home before he left this earth.
I tore through the hospital and straight to my dad’s room when we got there. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my family as I burst in, but my focus was on my dad. I walked straight to his bed, grabbed his hand, kissed his forehead, and looked into his eyes. He looked back. He really looked. He saw me. I breathed. I breathed in a way I hadn’t in a long time, and suddenly everything was okay.
I had a chance to catch up with my family. My niece, Shaleen, was curled up on a chair next to Barb with Chrissy and Mom close by. I looked at the four of them and realized how much I’d missed these women. I loved listening to their stories and reliving the memories they shared about Dad. Barb’s husband chimed in with hilarious stories he recalled and before we knew it, it was after midnight. I sent them all home for a well-deserved night’s rest.”They had been at his bedside around the clock for days, and I wanted some time alone with my dad.
On this night, I lay next to Dad in my chair, telling him all I’d learned from him from the time I was a little girl.
“Daddy, I loved when you would take me fishing, ice-skating, sledding, or swimming,” I said. “You played with us kids so much! How lucky we were! Even more, I loved when we would go for walks, or sit outside after dinner and have our chats. I remember you taking the time to do that from the time I was three years old. I remember you reading your scriptures, again and again and again. How the pages were marked up with questions you had, or passages that meant something to you. You never missed a Sunday at church, or a chance to go to the temple. You were so strong in your beliefs. I never once doubted your faith. I’ll never forget, Daddy, how you told me I should go to China. I wonder if you remember that?”
As I talked, I looked at his face, or at the ceiling, or out the window just beyond his bed. The room was dim. It felt like there was nobody else in that hospital except the two of us. I had dragged the chair in the room right next to his bed so I could hold his hand. I thanked him. I reassured him. I looked at his body and thought of the millions of things wrong with it. I saw all the tubes in him, all the machines surrounding him. I thought of the last two times I’d come home and how each time he had gotten weaker and weaker and had suffered more and more pain. It was time for him to go. I knew that. His tired and worn body needed rest.
The next night we were all in the hospital room together. It seemed we each had a continual prayer in our hearts—a conversation with God that was meant for Dad’s heart as well: “God, please let him rest. Help him to know we will be okay and that he can let go. Please don’t let him forget all he has done for us. Remind him of this now so that he can be comforted. Please, God, take away his pain.”
We all joined hands and looked at Dad. We didn’t speak. It was nothing we’d planned. It was just what we did, and we knew when to do it. We listened to his breathing and noticed that with each successive breath, he was struggling a bit more. The spaces between the breaths became longer and longer. Our conversation was quiet and hardly real, none of us truly involved in our words, just very aware of Dad. The talk lulled and we squeezed each other’s hands, knowing it would come soon. There were tears on my sisters’ faces, and on my mom’s as well. There was an overwhelming sense of quiet in that room. I think those last few breaths my dad took were his attempts to stay a bit longer with us, to feel the love we had for him and for each other—to soak it all up and take that warmth with him.
It was Barb who finally spoke: “Should we say a prayer?” Her voice was soft, her eyes were wide.
We all nodded and Mom, through her tears, said, “You say it.”
In this moment, we all really looked at Dad. He took one last, rattling breath, let it out, and then didn’t breathe again. Neither did we for a moment. We were all waiting to see if it was real. And it was.
We spent the next week planning for the service, having the funeral, the burial, all of it. There were moments when everything seemed almost normal. We would be sitting around the table, sharing a memory, laughing. Then we’d stop and wonder if it was appropriate. Should we be laughing? Was it okay to smile?
We made it through those days, hard as it was. I think what kept me from breaking down was knowing that William was waiting for me on the other side of the world, and that I had a life, my new life, to go home to. My home was there now.
A week after my dad died, I was on a plane bound for Guangzhou.
I couldn’t wait to see William. The hours on each flight back passed so slowly—which, in many ways, was good, because I had a lot to think about. My father had died and my heart was broken. At the same time, I was on the verge of something wonderful with William. I was also truly happy about me—just myself. I liked the life I’d made in Guangzhou. I liked my yoga, my running, my friends. I liked learning Chinese. I liked my apartment, feeling independent. I loved China, and yes, I believed I loved William, too. As I sat on the plane, I thought about all this and marveled at how extreme grief and extreme hope don’t feel all that different sometimes.
chapter 25
I was only fifteen minutes away from landing in Guangzhou, and I could not stop smiling. I knew William would be there waiting for me when I arrived, and my heart was beating so hard I thought it might be visible to the other passengers.
As I turned the corner near the luggage carousel after going through customs, I saw him. He saw me too and waved. His smile was gigantic and it didn’t leave his face until I kissed him. Well, even then it didn’t leave. We were finally face to face. I could finally touch him.
“Hi, my sweetheart,” he said with such excitement in his voice. He extended his arms and I fell right into them.
“Hi” was all I could get out before the tears came. I buried my face in his chest and breathed a big sigh of relief. I was so happy to be with him again. He held me tightly and stroked my hair. This was pure joy. I looked up at his face and was reminded of the first night we kissed, for now, as he had then, he brushed the hair away from my face, leaned in, and kissed me. I knew that was a big deal for him because Chinese people rarely show affection in public. Still, he didn’t care. He had missed me just as much as I had missed him, and he couldn’t wait to give me a kiss.
It seemed we’d stood there hugging for a long time when he finally said, “Let’s get in line for a taxi.”
I had thought a lot while being away from him. I’d thought about marriage, the future, and all the events in my life that had brought me to China. I had even prayed about him—not asking God if he was the one, just expressing how I felt. I felt peace as I thought about a future with William. And when I prayed, I felt even more peace. I never doubt
ed he was a good person, and that we connected on a deep level. I wanted nothing more than to marry him and to spend the rest of my life learning and growing with him. I had found a man so wise, pure, gentle, intelligent, and just plain good to his very core that I knew I would be an absolute fool to not make our relationship the first priority in my life.
After Christmas break, I threw myself into work and spending time with William. I was also running and doing yoga regularly. I was in the best shape of my life, it seemed, and everything was suddenly . . . good. I had this wonderful man in my life, I loved my job and was well-respected at work, and I was happy and fit. All of these things were dreams that had come true.
chapter 26
Before I knew it, it was time for Spring Festival. We had decided to go to William’s hometown so I could meet his family and see where he was from, and we could try to get our marriage certificate. We told nobody but our families that we would attempt this. We knew it would be difficult, and we also thought it was nobody else’s business.
The system of selling tickets in China never ceased to amaze me. During Chinese New Year, the train station chooses the strangest blocks of time to sell tickets, like five to seven in the morning. They’ll sell tickets for a couple of hours and then just stop, informing all those waiting that they’ll start again at, say, four that afternoon. So all those people have to either stay in line, for fear they’ll lose their place, or take a chance and come back later. William left early one morning, well before five, and after standing in line for hours, he managed to get us two hard seat tickets to Hubei.
It really is all relative, and this train ride wasn’t so bad. I guess I had become used to certain aspects of life China, because someone unfamiliar with the culture might not have described the journey that way. Because we could only get tickets for the hard seats, our travel companions weren’t the classiest folks. Most men in China smoke, so everyone around us was smoking at one time or another. Also, it’s perfectly acceptable on buses and trains to throw garbage on the floor; people figure that it’s not their home and someone will clean it up eventually, so why not just toss it where they’re sitting? So, rather than putting peanut shells or orange peels in a bag, they just throw them on the floor. A year earlier these things would have shocked me, but by this point I saw spitting on the floor, chain smoking, and bodies packed on top of one another without enough fresh air as par for the course when taking a train ride in China.