Wednesday, February 28, 2007

My dearest God,

Ming and Sarah had invited us for an authentic Chinese dinner. Only once had I attended a Chinese New Year with them. A table filled with food, egg rolls, soup, shrimp, chicken, beef, every kind of vegetable, including bamboo. The new year had already passed. We were celebrating the memory of a beloved friend.

When we entered their home, we took off our shoes and donned slippers. Then we looked at pictures of Bill, probably more than 200. Our hearts tugged as we recalled his memorial service. An hour and a half later we toured the new house. We talked with Sarah, a freshman honors student. She is third in a class of nearly 600. Bright, beautiful, unbelievably gifted, she is shy, tiny, and quiet.

We were invited to be seated at the table. Within a half hour, the table was full. Bowl after bowl of Bill's favorite foods. Our hostesses cooked and cooked, serving us, encouraging us to eat more and more. We were to the popping stage by the time they joined us. I sipped my tea hoping all that food would be kind to one another in there.

We talked and talked, our minds full of memories. As a top physician in the city, Bill had started a new geriatric program. Ming was the first physician to arrive from China. She was frightened, her parents anxious about their daughter going to America, a very fearful place. Ming living at their home, then marrying, moving to California, giving birth to a daughter, divorcing because the child was not male, returning to Indiana. Sarah growing up, going to school, playing the piano, sports, becoming a teenager. Bill suffering with Diabetes, heart problems, hypertension, getting sick, Hospice, dying in the hospital. Sad, we all felt such loss of a very wonderful, decorated doctor.

When we could eat no more, we moved to the living room where Sarah played the piano for us. Two songs our beloved Bill enjoyed. His picture standing on the top of the shiny, black instrument, Bill in his usual seat, Sarah playing the piano for him, his eyes closed. Tears formed in my eyes as I thought of Bill and the magnificent beauty of the songs. Truly my soul stirred as the salty tears spilled from my eyes.

Ming handed us a red envelope. I opened it, a Chinese card, a note, a cash gift. I was puzzled. Ming explained this was a gift of love, a Chinese custom when someone dies. In memory of Bill, she and Sarah were honoring us. She filled a grocery sack with leftovers for our meal the next day. When we left, they stood in the cold, hugging us, thanking us, waving as we drove away.

Ming had visited Bill daily in the hospital as he grew sicker and weaker. Checking his vitals, encouraging him, offering her love, she worked full time at another place and she lived an hour away, taking care of Sarah and cooking delicious meals every day. I don't know how she accomplished it all, except for agape love.

I've seen movies that were set in China. I've witnessed the honor and respect paid to elders. Last night we stepped into the Chinese culture and found love waiting for us.

We are all so different.
There was no culture clash
last night.
We joined traditions
and celebrated.
We remembered
and gave thanks.
Our lives are woven together
by an eternal cord.
Our love grows,
weaving itself
into others' lives.
We can't let go,
for we are bound together,
forever.

Grateful, Andrea