CHINA: SENDING OFF A FRIEND

 

Mom and Chris, China, 1994

Beijing was the last foreign city Mom and I were together in before she died. Our first foreign city was when we spent the night in Tokyo in 1971 before flying to Kwangju, Korea to live for a year. We had traveled the world together for twenty-three years. 

Mom was very pleased with her posting at the US Embassy in Beijing. She handled Southeast Asia, Central Asia, South Asia, the Pacific, including Australia and New Zealand, and Narcotics issues. She was also the deputy external chief. External referred to China's relations with other countries, as opposed to internal, which meant China's internal affairs, such as human rights and politics. She interacted with diplomats in other embassies and Chinese officials at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs and research institutes. Mom talked about how there was a good atmosphere in the embassy and that they all had the greatest respect for the Ambassador. 

I visited Beijing at Christmas in 1994, and then once again the following summer. 

And then Mom was diagnosed with cancer. She and Chris moved to Washington D.C. so she could get her medical treatments. For three years she struggled to be cancer-free until she died in January 1998, one week before my son, John was born. 

I saw her a month before she died. By this time, I was married and pregnant, and living in California. We had spent Christmas together, as we always did. When we said goodbye, she promised she'd be back after the baby was born. We hugged and kissed and I watched her car drive off to the airport. I didn't know that would be the last time I would ever see her again. 

Years later, I discovered, when looking through an old journal, that the last day we were together was January 2. This date is significant because three years later on January 2, 2001, my daughter Julia was born. Chris was convinced she was my mom reincarnated. Julia does have my mother's spunk, and her confident and independent spirit. Sometimes I look at Julia and see my mother's eyes.  

"I wish we could have seen the old city walls," my mother had mused when she and Chris were living in Beijing. The walls had been torn down by Mao years before to use the materials for air raid shelters. I can still hear her bemoan the constant noise of construction in Beijing, and how it was such a pity that they were destroying the old hutongs, courtyard houses of China's past. Though Beijing in 1994 was still very interesting to her. She and Chris shopped in the old markets, or went antique hunting with friends, or picnicked next to the crumbling Ming tombs outside the city, or went biking in the Western Hills. They also enjoyed a variety of modern restaurants and shops. 

It's just that, Mom and I both loved the idea of preserving history, perhaps a bit selfishly. We were nostalgic beings, especially together. We loved to see new places but hated the thought of things disappearing. 

Me, Mom, Todd, China, 1994

Todd, Our maid, and Tauna, Beijing apartment, 1994

We also loved Tang Dynasty poetry and would recite our favorites to each other. One of our favorites was called: Sending Off A Friend.

Path of a wanderer follows

the drifting clouds.

Parting of old friends

recalls the setting sun.

Now, as we wave good-bye

Even our parting horses sadly cry.