My mother…

I was in Beijing when I found out my mother passed away.  My wife told me.  My sister had just called her with the news, a statement repeated again and again, “My mom died.  My mom died.”

This is not a phone call you ever want to receive.

I’m in Vancouver now, making arrangements.  It’s Father’s Day.  My daughter’s birthday was yesterday.  My mother will be buried this Wednesday, which is my birthday.  Not a week for celebration (though my sister has said we’ll “celebrate” our mom’s life — which takes on an entirely different meaning in the midst of this grieving process).

I loved my mom.  A hero for leaving home at fourteen years of age, walking across China with other classmates in order to escape advancing Japanese troops.  A hero for keeping herself and her children alive during — and after — the second World War.  A hero for uprooting her life when she was in her late forties to travel to Canada where she did not speak a word of English — just to start a new life, and business. My mother always looked for new, better, opportunities.  A wicked mahjong player, too.

She was a hero for battling Alzheimer’s.

I send my love to her, always.

90 years.

A week ago I returned home to the States to visit family, and soon after flew to Vancouver to celebrate my mother’s 90th birthday.  She doesn’t always seem to be aware of her family, but she did start to cry as we lit her candles.  That was a difficult moment, heartbreaking — but also heartening, because it means she’s still in there.

Tomorrow I fly back to China.  Packing now, and filled with the same old resigned dread that hits me every time I have a long flight ahead of me.  I’ll sleep.  When I wake up, Beijing.

A note from the road…

It’s good being in Shanghai again, however briefly.  I’ve been based up north for the last several years, and while that’s nice, Shanghai has a certain energy that infects a person — in a good way.

I returned from the States last week, visiting my family, and my mother in Vancouver.  Once again, I found her in an even weaker state.  So much can change so quickly, and it was hard for me to see her.  I don’t know if anyone ever stops being afraid — or feeling dread — when seeing a parent who was once robust, high-spirited, unpredictable — now infirm, unable to move on her own from a wheelchair.   It’s not just the physical weakness.

Alzheimer’s is a terrible disease.  That is the real source of terror and horror.

Goes without saying…