Qian - How sweet the bitter soup: a memoir

how
sweet
the
bitter
soup

Copyright 2019, Lori Qian

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, digital scanning, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, please address She Writes Press.

Published 2019

Printed in the United States of America

ISBN: 978-1-63152-614-5 ISBN: 978-1-63152-615-2
Library of Congress Control Number: 2019934765

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Berkeley, CA 94707

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To Abraham, Annabelle, and Alex: Remember to hold to the sweet things in life, and use the bitter, which inevitably comes, to learn and grow. Thank you for believing in me. I love you more than you can imagine. Love, Mom

And, of course, to William: Without you, there isnt a story. Thank you for the bitter soup, and for adding so much joy to my life.

G etting married in China is nothing like what were used to in America. For a foreign woman to marry a Chinese man is highly complicated at bestin fact, it is nearly impossible. On February 16, 2002, William and I became the ninth American/Chinese couple to get married in Hubei province. Not the ninth that month, that year, or in the last decade. The ninth. Period. As I sat there with William, the steam from the soup warming my face while I held tight to that marriage certificate, my mind drifted back to how this all began.

The car seemed to have a mind of its own, perhaps wanting me to think things through before making any rash decisions, but I was done thinking. I knew what I wanted. Sort of. I wanted to go to China. But I needed to talk to Dad first. I wanted to sit down with him and explain this rare and special opportunity that had been presented to me. I wanted him to understand how important it would be for me to go, to accept this job, to do something for myself, to see what my future could be. I wanted him to be happy for me, to wish me well in this adventure. But I knew that wouldnt happen. It simply wasnt possible.

Last time I had visitedSunday dinner just six days earlierhe had thought I was the neighbors daughter. Not his and Moms current neighbor, mind you, but Sue Frocks, our neighbor from fifteen years earlier, when we lived in a small white house on the outskirts of Wisconsin Rapids.

This idea to go to China seemed perfectly normal when I could pretend my parents were not old, or poor, or sick. The reality, though, was that they didnt have enough money to support themselves, and it was up to me to close the gap between their rent and their social security allowance. The even more painful reality was that my dad was no longer playing his guitar, solving logic puzzles, or reading eight-hundred-page books; he simply wasnt able. Instead, he was a fragile man whose Alzheimers had taken over all of our lives.

When I pulled up to their apartment, I hoped I wouldnt find him wandering outside, as I had two weeks earlier. On that day, hed been walking around looking for their apartment. Worse than that, he had forgotten to put his pants on before embarking on this little stroll.

I was trying to find Sparks. It was always here on this corner. He slowly lifted his finger and his gaze, pointing at nothing.

I know, Dad, I said as I took him by the arm. Lets go inside.

Sparks was a grocery store in Starbucks, Washington, his childhood home. My childhood was filled with stories relating back to this town. I thought then, as I walked my father into the house, that I wished Id taken the time to visit his childhood home so that he could have shown me the places he loved and remembered.

Thinking of this moment, I was reminded that I needed to arrange full-time care for him, or Mom would need to quit her job. Shed been working as a nanny for the same family for ten years, and she was struggling to make ends meet. I told myself, though, that accepting this job in China, where Id be earning a good salary, would enable to me to help her do just that. If we could just make it through until then.

I opened the door to the apartment and was relieved to find Dad sitting at the kitchen table, eating toast. He was wearing clean blue sweat pants and a black cable-knit sweater that was a hand-me-down from me. Hed lost enough weight that he could now fit into all those once-fashionable, oversized mens sweaters Id bought years earlier. He looked like a child sitting on a big kitchen chair, carefully using two hands to bring the buttered toast to his mouth.

Hi, Daddy, I said, closing the door behind me.

Hiiii, he said, dragging out the word. Hed done this ever since his first stroke. Id become used to it. All the changes in his speech had been hard to deal with at first, but I didnt mind it so much lately. His new mode of speech made every word sound more sincere, like it was trying to stay in the air a little longer.

How are you, Dad? I asked, kissing the top of his bald head, my arm around his shoulder.

He looked up with a slow smile that began in his glossy eyes.

I realized Id caught him on a good day. I moved around the kitchen, putting things away, listening to him, testing to see how coherent he was. Id already told him I wanted to go to China when Id called from Vancouver. Id attended an International Teaching Conference there several days before. Hed said that was nice and then passed the phone to Mom. I knew it had not hit him, and I was sure he had no memory now of that conversation. I hoped that maybe, just maybe, if I sat down and told him in person, it might sink in. I prepared myself for two possibilities: either a blank stare or extreme sadness.

As I played out these possibilities in my mind, he shuffled toward his bedroom, sliding his hand along the wall for support. I guessed he was going to lie down, which was okay. He needed more rest. I could help with the laundry and dishes while he slept, and maybe I could come up with a fantastic way to tell him without hurting him in the process.

Just then I heard his voice behind me: Lori, come and show me where youre going.

I spun around, almost dropping the plate in my hand. I caught it just in time and was shocked to see him holding his globe. This was what he had gone to the bedroom for. Tears came to my eyes. I could not remember the last time Id heard such a clear sentence come out of his mouth. And to ask me this question meant he remembered my calling from the conference. That was days ago. How could he possibly remember?

I knelt down beside him and spun the globe. Wiping a tear away, I pointed to Guangzhou. Its right here, Dad. Thats the place I want to go.

He looked intently at the globe without speaking. He touched Guangzhou and slid his finger all the way up to the top of the globe, and then down the other side. He stopped right on Chicago.