But first it was time for a long-overdue family holiday to China over the Christmas break, though it would be filled with sadness as Niang was gravely ill and in hospital. She had had a near-fatal stroke several years earlier and was confined to a wheelchair and was unable to feed herself. Now Niang had contracted an infection. She was eighty-seven. It was important that we make this trip while we could, and that we all went this time so we could concentrate on being together with Li’s family.
20
On the plane to China, Li was quiet and anxious. I felt sad for him. I looked across the aisle at Sophie, knowing she was longing to see her nana again, to feel that warmth, that outpouring of love Niang had for Sophie. Family was what it was all about for us. It always was and it always will be.
Qingdao was freezing when we arrived on Christmas Day. We dropped our bags off at Li’s seventh brother Cungui’s lovely new house, where the children would be staying, and went straight to the hospital. We found Niang curled up in a foetal position, so tiny there was hardly anything left of her. I let out an involuntary gasp, but Li went straight to her. As soon as Niang saw her sixth son, she immediately cheered up and became her old self, laughing and hugging everyone. Perhaps she would rally now, I hoped.
Her eyesight was very poor. Each of us leant down with our face close to her so she could see us. The children greeted her in order of age, and delightedly she pulled them into big hugs. She hugged Sophie especially long and tight. ‘Wo zuomeng ye xiang bu dao ni hui tinjian wo, geng xiang bu dao ni hui he wo shuohua.’ I never dreamed you would one day hear me, let alone talk to me! she said in Chinese. She clicked her tongue and made her signature ‘zhi, zhi, zhi’ sounds.
Then it was Tom’s turn, the precious grandson. He spoke softly to her in Chinese and she laughed heartily.
When Bridie bent down to give her a kiss, Niang gently grabbed her breast, giggled, and cheekily said, ‘Oh, Bai La Dee zong da la.’ Bridie blushed. We were surprised but Li burst into laughter and translated: ‘She said, “Bridie is all grown-up!”’ Bridie thought it was hilarious.
Then it was my turn. I just hugged Niang tight, so grateful to have had this precious woman in my life. We were very emotional, trying to hold back the tears. She was so happy to see us, but obviously struggling with her breathing.
Li held Niang’s hands and talked gently to her for quite a while. She clearly missed her cherished son who had been taken from her at such a young age. Looking at Niang’s fragile state I felt overcome, and so blessed to have had those happy years with her and Dia in Houston.
We stayed in Niang’s apartment for almost a week. Li was very worried about her, but happier now that he was here. We visited her every day after having breakfast prepared for us by Li’s fourth brother, Cunsang – dumplings and steamed bread, eggs, pickles and fish. He still lived nearby on the site of the old commune. Qingdao was no longer the same place – so much more modern. The commune had long disappeared and Li’s family lived in nice new apartments with televisions and refrigerators.
The hospital was a half-hour walk away. It was fairly primitive. We had to enter via the back stairs, the floor was cement and the bathroom was a shared facility without doors. It didn’t look like it was cleaned regularly. Niang was in a room with a window and four single beds, which apparently was one of the best rooms in the hospital. The family had paid for a full-time carer to help Li’s parents at home, and now the carer was here twenty-four hours a day, sleeping beside Niang. There were few hospital staff and Niang needed help with toileting and feeding. The family took meals to her because the hospital food wasn’t good. Despite her condition, she could still eat ten dumplings with gusto. This brought smiles to our faces, but Li and I both felt she would not be with us for much longer.
‘She wants to be with Dia now,’ Li said to me quietly. ‘She keeps saying that he’s waiting for her in another world and she wants to go and be with him. I think she knows her time is near the end. She told me today that she can go to Dia now, as she has seen me. She’s been waiting four years since Dia died to be together again with him.’
It was heartbreaking to hear Li say this, but I knew he was right. ‘I know,’ I told him. ‘None of us can bear to see her suffering like this. It is so cruel for her to suffer such indignity. I hope she will go peacefully and soon.’
Before long, it was time for us to return to Brisbane. As always, we visited Dia’s grave to pay our respects. Li also knelt sadly at his oldest brother, Cuncia’s, grave. He had died suddenly of a heart attack, not long after Dia. I remember him vividly. He was such a gentle soul, and so handsome. True to tradition, Li’s brothers organised for paper money, alcohol and food to be placed on the top of Dia’s marble gravestone. The alcohol was poured and paper money lit. Then, one by one, each of us knelt down and kowtowed to Dia by touching our head on the ground three times. The children had become accustomed to this traditional way of showing respect to the elderly. Seeing Niang’s empty plot next to Dia’s gravestone brought even more emotion to the ceremony. On our next visit, we would most likely be kowtowing to both Dia and Niang.
We went to the hospital one last time, each of us getting close to Niang’s face again and kissing her gently on the cheek. We tried to hold back our tears, knowing that this could be the last time we’d see her. Niang was openly crying, though trying hard not to, so that we wouldn’t be too sad. ‘Buyao danxin wo, buyao dnaxin wo.’ Don’t worry about me, don’t worry about me, she kept saying to Li in her croaky voice. They hugged for a long time.
The car ride to the airport was quiet as we each reflected on our own relationship with Niang. I remembered how painfully sad it had been when she and Dia left Houston all those years ago – what they had given up in order to do the right thing for Sophie.
Farewelling Niang made me desperate to spend more time with Coralie. After all, my mother was eighty-one. I was happy that we would be going almost immediately to Coolangatta for our annual holiday. She was already there, staying with Ger and Marlene in their apartment in the complex. It was a special time spent playing cards together, chatting and sharing meals. I treated Mum to lunches at a restaurant downstairs: a few oysters and a glass of champagne were her favourite. But after she returned to Brisbane and Brig confided, ‘Mum is not quite right,’ I knew what she meant. Coralie was frailer and less energetic.
Not long after we returned to Brisbane I made a quick trip to visit Sophie in Melbourne, determined not to allow space for another rift to open up. We enjoyed a couple of days together in the hot Melbourne sunshine, going out for lunch and shopping for Sophie’s first car. With much excitement she was planning to go to a global deaf conference in America.
I headed home feeling more positive about our relationship, but when the plane touched down there was a phone message from Brig: ‘Mary, Mum’s had a stroke. We’re at St Andrew’s. It’s pretty bad.’
I rushed straight to the hospital emergency department. Beloved Coralie looked very pale and frightened, her mouth drooping to the left side. She was speaking but it was slurred. She recognised Brig and me, so I felt things might not be too bad. I couldn’t really take it in. Apparently Dom’s partner, Clive, had gone to visit Coralie early that morning to fix her television. The door was locked and Clive knocked, but when she didn’t answer he called out to Brig, who was just next door, to come and let him in. Coralie was in bed, unable to rise.