Last April, when Dad was diagnosed with leukemia, and the doctor said it was a moderate type and most patients could live over ten years, my brothers and I felt relieved. I had just become an American citizen and started applying for my American passport and planned to go back to celebrate Chinese New Year. Due to COVID, I hadn’t been to China for over four years. I was sure my dad would recover, and I imagined inviting him to the U.S. to see where I live, what I was doing, and to meet my friends and family here–he had never been here yet.

However, things didn’t go as well as the doctor said, Dad’s condition grew worse and worse. He quickly lost weight; he couldn’t walk or sit for long, and what he experienced was pain. I then got my passport and started to apply for my Chinese visa, but it was delayed because the Chinese embassy required my naturalization certificate, which the passport center would send back to me eight weeks after I received my passport.

My dad was sent to the emergency room. I talked to the agent who helped me apply for a Chinese visa, asking if I could send the paper later. I called the passport center, begging them to send me my naturalization paper. I asked my dad to wait for me. The Chinese embassy refused my request, stating that my passport alone couldn’t prove I am an American citizen. The American passport center didn’t promise when they could send back my naturalization paper; they just asked me to wait patiently.

But my dad couldn’t wait. Twenty days after being discharged from the emergency room, Dad passed away at noon here, midnight in China. Until the moment my mom told me, “Your dad is gone,” I still couldn’t believe my dad would die. I cried in the video to my dad, “Why didn’t you wait for me? You didn’t wait for me because you don’t love me!” I had nowhere to vent my anger, sadness, and regret; I could only do it toward my dad’s body through the video.

My brothers and mother had been there with my dad when he was sick, when he passed, and during the five days of his funeral. The guests and the atmosphere at the funeral helped them accept the fact that Dad was gone. I hadn’t been there, and I couldn’t get over it. I couldn’t believe it.

Mostly, I felt guilty and regretful, which changed my attitude toward life. I became lazy and felt life was meaningless. When I reached some of my goals or received some surprises in life, work, or study, I felt empty because the one with whom I liked to share those feelings was not there anymore. In the poor, remote village where I was born and grew up, my dad was the first person who thought education was important for both girls and boys, and I was the first one to continue my education after middle school and become a teacher, which encouraged other parents to send their girls to high schools or vocational schools. He always supported me, whether I quit my teaching job and moved to a big city, decided to marry my husband, relocated to the US, or attend college here. Now, he is gone; he didn’t see my graduation, and he didn’t even meet my daughter in person.

I read books about death and wished my dad was somewhere in heaven looking at me. I kept his photos on my bookshelf and in my wallet. Wherever I went and whatever I did, I talked to his photo. This comforted me a bit. Thinking about Dad made my heart sink. I miss Dad so much. I unconsciously think of him while doing dishes, driving, watching a show, or even during writing. Many mornings when I woke up, especially when I dreamed of him, I felt that he was still here—talking, laughing, sitting, standing, in no pain, and asking me not to be tired and to maintain my health. I wish the time from last April was a dream, and if this could bring Dad back, I’d like to delete this period from my life, even longer, I wouldn’t mind. I am willing to.

Yu Hua, the famous Chinese writer, said, “Our beloved’s departure was not a heavy rain, but a persistent humidity. I am forever trapped in this dampness.” Dad has been gone for nine months, and I still can’t accept this truth. The guilt, regret, and grief haven’t faded a bit. I don’t know when I will feel better, or if I ever will for the rest of my life. At this moment, as I write these words, my heart is in pain, the same as the moment Mom told me Dad was gone. Oh, so hard!

Ying Tao is the Editorial Assistant of the North Pine County News. She can be reached at 320-384-6188 or circulation@hinckleynews.com

This is published in the North Pine County News on May 24, 2024.