The Literacy Review - Gallatin School of Individualized Study - New ...

My Father’s Sorrow
Xao Ling Shang
54 Grieving
My grandmother told me that my father was a happy boy. He liked to play games
with his sister when he was a child, and he liked to laugh. But one day, it changed. The
war began, so everybody left the hometown to look for a safe place. They walked and
walked, day and night. They were too tired and too hungry; they only had limited food
for the whole family. My grandfather wanted to keep the one boy in the family alive. In
only two months, three of his sisters died from hunger. They died so quietly, appearing
to be asleep. My father was so scared and sad that he was afraid of sleeping. He worried
that when he woke up, the other sister would be dead.
After that, they seldom heard his laugh. He went to school, looking more mature
than his age. He was smart and studied hard, he skipped grades and later he was the
first one go to university. The whole town was shocked. How glad the family was! My
grandparents all laughed, but he didn’t. He went out to look for the place where his
sisters were buried.
Five years later, he became an engineer with a good job and good salary. He wanted
to offer his parents a good life. He bought all kinds of food for his parents—things they
never had tasted—but soon, his father suffered from cancer. My father used all his
money and borrowed a lot to treat his father. He went to visit every famous doctor he
heard of, he tried his best, and even though he used his mouth to help suck his father’s
sputum, his father still died.
From then on, he changed, becoming silent. He turned to studying Chinese medicine
and used health as a way to take care of his mother. He always said: “Everybody must be
dutiful to your grandmother, the same as me. Take care of her first, respect her first!” My
grandmother had a good time with us; she felt so safe with us.
Then, in 1992, during a cold winter, my father was sent to Japan to work for two
months. After he left, my grandmother became sick and changed very fast. Even though
my mom tried very expensive medicine on her, it still couldn’t keep her alive. Before she
died, she called my father’s name until she couldn’t speak.
My father was so sad when he came back; he felt he couldn’t be pardoned. He hadn’t
done anything or said any words when his mother needed him. He would never have
the opportunity to do it again. He felt he made his mother so restless when she was on
her way to heaven. So he cried loudly, his tears like flooding water running down from
a broken bank.
Many years later, even now that he has become a grandfather, he still doesn’t feel
relief. He still likes to tell us the story about his sisters, his father and his mother. He