It turned out that Mum’s stroke was significant, affecting her whole left side. It was a shock to us all. None of us could believe it. Jo even flew in from the US. Coralie had been able and independent, and this would change now. While she was able to recognise everyone and tried to rally as her children and grandchildren visited, it was clear that she was very unwell. The Coralie we’d known and loved forever was no longer the same. We were beside ourselves with grief and anxiety. What did it mean for the future?
I wanted to be there all day, every day with Mum, but Li told me to prepare for ‘the long game’. He had seen his own mother linger for years after her stroke. ‘It can be a marathon, Mary,’ he reminded me gently.
Mum was in hospital for six weeks. It was devastating for us all. It took a few weeks before the nursing team and physios could get her into a wheelchair. Her left side, including her eyesight and mouth, still had not recovered and she had some trouble swallowing. Thank God she could still communicate, even though she slurred her words a little. As time went on, we could see she was also confused, and the doctors told us the stroke had caused vascular dementia. This was when we knew that she would never be able to go home and live independently: she needed full-time care.
Brig, always the organiser, found the best aged-care place for Mum. It was a nice facility where she had her own spacious room with a bathroom. The staff were caring and friendly. When she arrived, her brain couldn’t process what was going on and it was very traumatic. She became bed-bound and couldn’t be taken on outings. But her beloved family rallied round her, with everyone visiting as often as they could.
As we struggled to adjust to the impact of Coralie’s stroke, there came another blow. We’d only been back at work for two weeks when we got the news from Li’s fifth brother, Cunfar, that their beloved Niang had passed away. Li called me into his office and shared the shattering news. He looked broken but resolute, and set about booking flights for himself and his third brother, Cunmao, who was in Melbourne visiting Lulu. I just gave him a hug, then quickly called the kids.
Even though he’d been mentally prepared for her death, Niang’s passing was still a huge blow to Li. Of the seven brothers, he was the closest to her. He called me from Qingdao as soon as he and Cunmao arrived the next day. Niang’s body was already in a coffin in the hospital’s cooling room – ‘the Peaceful Room’, they called it – where she would lie for three days. It was opened so Li could see her face and farewell her spirit for the last time.
‘Niang looked peaceful and serene,’ he told me on the phone.
‘That’s good, darling,’ I replied gently.
‘After we left China, she apparently caught a virus and her health quickly deteriorated,’ Li explained. ‘Her cough got worse and she had to wear a mask to help her breathe.’
‘Poor Niang. I’m so sorry, Li!’ was all I could say.
I listened with a smile as he said, ‘Cungui told me that on the morning of her death she drank an entire bowl of rice soup and ate half an egg pancake. She maintained her good appetite until the end. Before her last breath, she asked when her third and sixth sons would arrive. But we were too late.’
‘You did your best, darling.’
‘The doctor then told everyone that they should prepare her clothes, so they knew it was time.’
Li was referring to the local tradition of special clothes for dying people to wear for their afterlife: shirt, pants, socks, shoes and a wooden comb. No metal or plastic objects – only old-world stuff.
‘Oh, Mary, on the way to the Peaceful Room, one of the wheels of the mobile bed dropped off,’ Li continued. ‘Can you imagine? It should have been a peaceful journey to the Peaceful Room.’
‘Oh God, Li.’
‘One of the nurses said, “Your Niang doesn’t want to go.” Then Cungui’s wife, Xiao Zhu, remembered Niang’s last words and said, “Niang, don’t worry, your third and sixth sons are on their way. They will be here tomorrow to say goodbye.” Once they fixed the trolley, she was wheeled into the Peaceful Room without any more trouble.’
‘So Niang can finally be with Dia, then,’ I said.
It was very cold on the day of Niang’s funeral, Li told us afterwards. It snowed, which is a rare thing in Qingdao these days. All of the family members, relatives, friends and village people came to farewell Niang. There were flowers and wreaths surrounding her simple coffin, and a funeral director who recited loving and lucky words to the crowd of over a hundred people. I could only imagine their howls and cries of grief filling the cold funeral hall: no one would have held back. Then, after the surviving sons’ names were called, Li and his five brothers knelt in front of Niang’s coffin and kowtowed three times. It was the very last time they would kowtow in their beloved Niang’s presence before her body was cremated.
Although we couldn’t be there with Li, I was comforted by the thought that we had seen Niang only a few weeks earlier. I felt so lucky to have had a mother-in-law like her. Her generosity and larger-than-life personality would never leave me. Her love and kindness for me and our children, especially Sophie, would always live in our hearts. The legacy she and Dia had left behind was immense. What a special woman! What a life she lived. I will never forget her.
It was the end of an era – and the end of an era is always marked by feelings of loss combined with a view to the future. I wanted to spend more time with Coralie and was determined to do so. It was unbearable seeing her unable to move, but I chatted with her about our growing up in Rocky in that crazy house with our boisterous family, about Dad and his enthusiastic support for all of us siblings, and that often brought a smile to her face – and mine.
I wanted to be there for Sophie, too, but it was time to try and properly let go. I can do that too, now, I thought to myself. Truly I can. Even though uni will remain challenging, she’s really on her way now at La Trobe University. She will make a great audiologist, I just know it.
I was coming to see that with her improved signing capabilities, Sophie’s language, pacing of speech, clarity and nuance were also improving. It seemed that learning to sign had helped develop her vocabulary even as an adult. Back when we had first decided on the oral path for her, we had been told that signing would be a hindrance to her speech and hearing development. I was proud of her resourcefulness now and could only stand back and observe, support and hope. Just like Niang had taught me, really. No use moping – just get on with it.
With Sophie and Tom sorted and Bridie settling in to first-year uni, Li and I decided to move house for a fresh start, to mark the beginning of the next phase of our lives. Admittedly it was just up the hill, but we swapped our Queenslander with its cross-breezes and tumbling vines for a larger, architect-designed modern house that we had fallen in love with. It had a fabulous aspect beneath the wide sky, large gracious spaces with lots of glass to let in the light, a wide staircase, a terrace with a lap pool and a low-maintenance garden. It was perfect for holding the increasing number of ballet parties that Li liked to host.
In May 2016 Sophie left Vicdeaf to concentrate on her studies. After passing first semester at La Trobe, she applied to Melbourne Uni to complete her Master in Audiology. Tom graduated in August and took up a teaching position at a language school in Shanghai. I was truly thrilled for him even though I was going to miss him.