My son ran rapidly to the frozen surface of the river, and it’s a kind of privilege for northern kids. A glace river is a spectacular and merely northeast scene that can always surprise my southern friends.
It was the sixth of the first month, and we wandered for forty minutes in the cold breeze for just standing on the river and drinking a cup of hot tea.
For the third time, as we called our son back, he dashed and called toward someone behind us. We looked back then found Rainbow and Moon and their father. My wife tried to find their mother, but there wasn’t. My son ran away again with Rainbow hand in hand. I heard about what their father said. “Their mom passed away on Feb the sixth.”
We were both astonished. We are living in the same community. Because Mr. and Mrs. Xin’s family’s first daughter’s nickname is very adorable, we memorized them very soon.
As I glanced at the father again, tears were rolling down his hollow cheek in the wind, evaporating. He narrated off and on. The mother slimmed down within half a year. She lost twenty KGs, and then she started to have abdominal effusion. She was hospitalized at the end of Jan, underwent a liver puncture operation. But the situation went down like sky diving. They went to Beijing XieHe hospital, but it was in vain. She died of hepatic failure. Died?!
“Mommy became a star!” The younger daughter followed after her father told us and smiled.
We took their car together to head back. The father drove. He suddenly asked, what if I repurchased the ticket to Beijing. I said yes, I bought the one arrive at Beijing Chaoyang station. Stupidly fast. I was about to praise the new train that becomes more convenient for commuters like me, but he continued:
“We took that one to XieHe Hospital too, that took three hours, what about yours?”
“Two hours and forty minutes,” I replied.
I don’t know how to console people in tremendous sorrow. If we have shared memories of the dead one, reminiscing her together would be my best way.
My son asked Rainbow to complete homework at my home later, and we would like to try to help them overcome the suffering period. Rainbow, the little girl, is such an early-maturing one. I urged my son repeatedly to avoid topics about her mother. But compared to her generous attitude, and it seemed that we were just over-sentimental. She had accepted everything that occurred; there was nothing that we should avoid.
“It’s like, like Yayoi Kusama!”
She commented on the ‘Fight Covid 19’ theme drawing when she was coloring with, which I prepared for my son. I also copied one sketch for her to help her complete the assignment that the school required.
“My mom loves a lot of Japanese books! I love them too, and I like that, that ‘Takagi Naoko.’”
“Daddy, who is Takagi Naoko?” asked my son.
I scouted for a while to find the author’s book but ended up locating Nara Yoshitomo’s ‘The Little Star Dweller.’
During that afternoon, two kids finished two writings. When it came to weekly diaries, my son came around and asked me quietly.
“Daddy, we have to recollect things that happened recently to do the weekly reports. She will be sad if she has recalled something, won’t she?”
I relieved him by telling Rainbow is more robust than we think, and also I was gratified by the action from my son that emitted his sympathy.
On the other hand, my wife showed more grief. Those related memories kept popping up. The first thing she did when we arrived home was taking out two bottles of cleansing water.
“See, those are from her.” Her tears came out all of a sudden.
We chatted with kids for a while, she incidentally whispered with me:
“I have a feeling that this person is not dead at all. Do you remember that movie? That couple became pigs?”
“Right, it said if someone’s dead and no one remembers her, She is gonna be disappeared ever.”
“No, that was ‘Coco’”
“Anyway, just something like that.”
I looked at my son and Rainbow surfing TikTok, and she occasionally laughed out loudly. She would sometimes say: “If my mom were there, I would have completed all my homework at the very beginning of the vacation.”
But there was no one drip of tear from her, and that made me more heart-wrenching. But there was no one drip of tear from her, and that made me more heart-wrenching. I had a sip of tea, printed out another essay template for the little girl, looked towards to kitchen where my wife was preparing dinner, meditated, what I should do for them.