Every time I go visit dad, it seems to rain. Sometimes heavy, sometimes light, and sometimes it would rain and then suddenly clear again. I wonder often whether the rain is a confirmation of receipt, for traditionally on visits like these, the living would burn lots of paper money and material goods to offer to the deceased. Perhaps the more that is offered, the more the heavens give back in return.
Together with mum and my sister-in-law, we went to pay dad and our ancestor's a visit. A few days ahead of the official day of the Dragon Boat Festival, one of a number of important days to remember the dead, in order to avoid the crowds and rush. Since yesterday, we have been busy preparing, not as elaborately as other days, but still, I bought tonnes of fresh fruits and some balls of glutinous rice wrapped in lotus leaves (zongzi), which is a traditional food that is offered and eaten around this time of the year. Among the bags of food and fruits, I placed maple syrup cookies I had brought all the way from Canada.
The food we placed on a table in front of the ancestral plaque. I lit incense sticks, and quietly we stood in front of the little piece of wood that bears our family name. I closed my eyes, and 'spoke' to my grandma, my grandpa, the two people from another generation I still have memory of. And I 'spoke' also to my dad, who left three years ago already...
I told them that I had returned, and that as promised, I have come to see them. I hoped they have been well, and thanked them for watching over the family. I asked them for a few simple things, perhaps after all these visits they already know what I was going to ask for... to take care of mum's health condition, to let her be happy and free from pain, to watch over brother, my sister-in-law, and the first grandson of our generation, to bless them and protect them from harm... I asked for nothing else.
Together we walked into a chamber containing individual 'lockers' for storing urns. Quickly I found dad's, and gave his name a soft stroke. We stood before it for a moment or two, and spoke to him. I stayed behind a little longer, and when mum and my sister-in-law had turned the corner, I pressed my forehead against dad's locker... "Please protect mum and let her not feel more pain... please, dad, please... Watch over her health and her body, and make sure she is well. I have long dreamed of taking her on this trip with me to Canada, and please protect us on this long, long journey."
At that point I could not contain my tears. As my lips met the cold steel face of dad's locker, I cringed and my eyes became moist. Memories of dad came back...
...his smile, his scent, his kindness, all those years of hardwork and toil to provide us with a better life, free from worry, free from material needs... And today, he is already gone. He cannot see for himself how I am doing in my new home. How I wish he could be there with me, with mum as we tour Canada, as I show them around my home and my friends...
"Rest well, dad, and please take good care of yourself..." My fingers brushed against his name again, and I closed my eyes to steady myself, to steady my emotions. There is so much I would like to say, so much frustration and uncertainty in my life I would like to share with dad. I would like to tell him how very afraid and lonely I feel at night... how lacking in confidence I feel at times, despite that brave face and smile I put on... how much I long for stability and companionship... But I held myself back, even though from where he is, dad probably knows...
On the way home, we were all quiet, unlike on the way up to the mountain, when we were all chatting away excitedly about my sister-in-law's beginning her new life with my brother in Europe. I stared into the distance, at the blue, blue rough ocean, and drifted away.
Sleep came over me, sleep and dreams that offered a temporary escape from all those thoughts, fears and that gnawing sense of loss and uncertainty...
"Rest well..." I heard myself say... "Rest well..."
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