19
I cried and cried, until I fell asleep. When I woke up, I cried again, crying for Mom.
I was sent to Grandma Eleanor’s house.
Grandma Eleanor sat in her wheelchair and sighed, “What a sin.”
Grandma Eleanor never liked Mom. She said Mom was another chapter in Dad’s life.
Because she didn’t like Mom, she didn’t like me either. I was three years old, and I’d only
seen Grandma Eleanor twice.
Grandma Eleanor asked Nanny Maria to bathe me, but Nanny Maria said she didn’t dare, explaining that in her hometown, it was taboo for a child who had been with a deceased
person like me. I should be sent to a temple first.
Grandma Eleanor got very angry and, leaning on her cane, personally bathed me.
She cried while washing me, saying how hard her life was, and then said my life was even
harder than hers.
“I want Mommy,” I cried along with her.
Grandma Eleanor called Dad, but he didn’t answer.
So Grandma Eleanor had the driver take us to our house. Dad was indeed home. He was sitting in front of the bed, where Mom was no longer.
He had grown a short beard.
Mom used to dislike him having a beard; she said it was scratchy.
Then Dad would pick Mom up and put her on the sink. “You help me.”
Mom would laugh softly then, her slender fingers spreading white foam over Dad’s chin, carefully helping him shave off his beard.
Dad would always watch Mom, then kiss Mom.
Later, Mom would talk to herself in the mirror, saying Dad wasn’t looking at her, he was looking at someone else.
I thought, there were only three of us at home. Dad wasn’t looking at me, so if he wasn’t looking at Mom, who was he looking at?