The latest tear
A sudden wind from my bedroom window, I was awaked by the sound of a photo rack near my bed. A picture of my grandmother with an unnatural smile, started my recalling:
It was a gloomy, windy nightfall with an orange coloured sky at a silent graveyard. It was having a funeral, which usually happens, at a church. Everyone’s sight was on the dark brown coffin with rose pattern. My grandmother’s favourite was roses red like blood. None of us made a single noise until the coffin was completely buried and a gravestone with my grandmother’s name and picture put in between a bunch of bloody roses. Then, the sound of crying, the sound of missing and the sound of losing began. I ran in front of the gravestone and hugged it tightly. Images of my grandmother kept on floating in my mind. At the moment, I thought about I had lost her, never having her again. There was no soul left; it was a death, a murder by the nature. Tears came out spontaneously, it dropped on the gravestone. The atmosphere was a turning point of having and losing, not the sadness of death.
My grandmother died when she was 75 years old. Before, I thought my grandmother was not a great person. She did not smile very often. She had a pair of small eyes with a big high nose below. People said she was ugly and mean, I suspected. She never sits probably and she spat a lot. She was a stubborn lady who lived with her only partner pet, Bobby, in a house with a garden of red roses across the river far away from the central district. It was a quite place. The wheat swing against the sound of the wind and the cock wake up with a call. My grandmother wakes up.
I was told that my grandfather brought up three kids with not just being a mum, and a dad as well. My grandfather had never been mentioned. She brought up three kids who were my dad, my uncle and my aunt. They used to live together when the little swallows were young. My grandmother always described her sons as little swallows. She thought that when the swallows were young, they live in a warm nest with swallow’s care. After the little swallows’ fur become ripe, they will fly away from the nest and create their own nest without a look at the nest. This goes on a never-ending line. It is a circulation of swallows. She said: “My sons are like swallows that will come back to my nest when spring begins.” I was an eight-year-old boy when I was told about this. I did not understand what my grandmother had just said. All I know was: It was spring at that moment.
In fact, my parents had a poor relationship with my grandmother. Every time they saw each other’s it would cause arguments. Every spring as usual, our Pao’s family usually stayed at my grandparents’ house during Chinese New Year, about a week. We usually celebrated with my relatives with fun and great food. In contrast, my grandmother and my dad celebrated with arguments.
In my grandmother’s house, there was a huge garden outside covered with blood. The roses were as red as blood matched up with the sound of the wind and the cicadas. I felt comfort without the bricks and the sound of the vehicles and the smell of toxic gases. I was fresh and I was eight. I thought I had understood the nature.
There were other different smells instead of the smell of the mud in my grandmother’s house. It was the smell of cuisines. My grandmother could cook very well, especially special festival dinner. However, I could just have it once a year when New Year started. I wanted to help my grandmother cooking every year. In fact, just watched. Children were always not allowed in kitchen in every family, which is an international rule in every family. I was watching an old lady sweated a lot in the beginning of spring to prepare a lovely dinner for us, which my mum never does. I realized how great my grandmother was and a good housewife should have brilliant cooking skill. However, I was young.
Every Chinese New Year, offspring will receive red pockets with money inside from elder members, relatives, and usually married people. Every elder member puts sufficient small amount of money for children as a blessing in their red pockets except my grandmother. She never put money in it. Every year, she put a blessing note in every offspring’s red pockets. My cousins and I started to discuss about my grandmother’s silly red pockets. We asked our uncle, he told us that our grandmother was the meanest lady in the world. He said this in a way of joking, but I thought of disrespectful. My cousins believed in what my uncle said. I didn’t. I went to ask my grandmother and this was a turning point.
I knocked on my grandmother’s door. There wasn’t any reply. I went in after knocking three times. I saw my grandmother was lying on her bed with a painful facial expression when I went in. I realized that the feeling of pain covered the sound of knocking the door. I was frightened and asked her was she all right. She said “Whenever it is misty whether, my leg will just go jerk. I have suffered this disease for ten years. I already get used to it. Remember, don’t tell anyone about that, including your parents. Get it?” I nodded with a seriously expression. My grandmother realized my curious eyes; she guessed I want to know more about her. She guessed right. She said, “When I was thirty, I needed to bring up three little swallows, your dad, your uncle and your aunt. I worked as a factory labour at daytime and worked as a cleaning staff at a school at nighttime. When I first hurt my leg when moving a heavy good and I didn’t treat it fine enough. I was keeping working and this made it worse. Now is the moment for suffering.” I felt grew up when I heard this, I began to think of other’s situation, which normally an eight-year-old child could not do. Then, I asked, “Why did you have to work so hard? How about grandfather?” She took a minute for a brood.
“ Your grandfather died when your dad was three. At that time, just after the Second World War, jobs were not easy to get and not well paid. After the war between Japan and China, it took a period of time to recover and the People Republic of China had just been started. Everything was just the beginning and your grandfather died without saying a word. He died suddenly with a heart attack when he was sleeping and just left me with the three little swallows.” Tears came out from her eyes. This was my first time seeing elder person crying in front of me instead of television acting. I was frozen at that minute. I stood at the same place about a quarter until the tears dried. I could see a tear scar below my grandmother’s eye. She wiped her eyes with a red bloody roses handkerchief. The colour of tears dissolved in the bloody roses. The roses changed to pure and peaceful, not bloody anymore.
It was the first time I saw a person crying with expressions. I could not forget that. My relatives left with a lovely meal and some fun. I left with pure roses. I tried to think about my grandmother’s qualities. She brought up three kids with both hands and her character during a difficult period. A weak woman with strong mind strives in a cruel society and reality. She did not evade and blame, but only endured and was brave in her mind. In general, a hero is always portrayed, wise and a director. My grandmother wasn’t. She was a person with poor education; feudal mind, an employee and what she had done did not affect anything in this society. The only thing that she affected was my soul; to me she is a hero.
However, after three months later. My father told me that my grandmother had gone. He gave no reasons. He only said she decided to go back to Mainland China. She lived in a village with one of our relative. I was shocked when I heard this news. My grandmother left our family, the garden of roses and I without a word. Everything happened too suddenly. After a while, I started to think positively. Maybe carefree life in villages was the life style that my grandmother was chasing for the rest of her life. All I could do was send my prayers.
Time is always flushing the past; I began to forget about my grandmother. I think it was because the time with my grandmother was too short and when I was young. The process of being mature is called grow up. After my 8-year-old new year, I started to grow up and a lot of new things appeared. However, the event with my grandmother was still unforgettable but fresh no more.
I have not had contact with my mum since I was 8. One day at last summer, a phone call received by my dad dug the memory from time. A message of my grandmother’s death was received. “She died very peacefully when she was sleeping. There wasn’t any sign of death before she died. Doctors said it was because the weather was too hot and her trachea was blocked by some humours and she couldn’t breathe and died during sleep. She always told me her will was to have a funeral with roses and buried in the coffin peacefully,” said the relative who lived with my grandmother during these years said. All the memories and feelings were dug from my mind. A lot of indescribable feelings appeared at that moment.
Eventually, my grandmother’s will was reached. A funeral with her favourite roses and a coffin with rose patterns. Everything seemed to be peace for a hero’s end of life. But nobody knew was if it was peaceful or not in my grandmother’s departure. Everyone did not give a care about it, because I had never told anyone about the things that happened between grandmother and me. After the funeral, everything returned to usual for them.
A year after the funeral and a picture started my recalling. For me, I know that everyone has to face death. It depends on how and when. I think my grandmother was a great person because of her brave character. Although, I do not know her very well, just saw her few times before the age of 8. All I know was she brought up 3 children during a hard period of time. That’s enough for me to think she was great because I think of her situation and character and I appreciate her spirit.
I start to think about relationships between people, especially my relatives. I got a lot of abstract feelings when my grandmother died. On one hand, I feel lonely and unhappy. On the other hand, I feel that we are distance apart, even though we are relatives. The same feeling and the same principle to my parents. Although they give birth to me, they never know what I am thinking about in my deep mind. Every human being is an individual object with different thoughts and feelings. Nobody can clearly understand you except yourself. Sometimes, you don’t even understand yourself either. People passed, babies come, and it is a circulation. I seem not to care because I do not clearly understand a person. In the same way, nobody understands me. I start to think of this feeling from the memories of my grandmother. Things become complicated and abstract. Feelings become confused and indescribable. Sometimes they make me perplexed, sometimes not and sometimes I will be likely to forget it absolutely.
I hold my grandmother’s picture tightly and think that time will flush everything away. A lot of complicated feelings come out. At one moment, tears want to come out. I looked at my grandmother’s picture again; her brave spirit inflects me. My latest tear is still on her gravestone, staying with her coffin and purifying the roses. All the things are peaceful. I closed the window and my eyes, and then I went asleep again.
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