Gravedigging

Today, we marked the one year passing of my father, according to the lunar calendar.

In the morning, my brothers, sister and I accompanied our mother to lay flower at my father's grave and to bow in remembrance and respect. The Chinese call it "han san" - literally, walk the mountain.

My sister and I brought pots of poinsettas and gerberas. When we got to the site, we were disconcerted to see a shovel lying on the grave. My brother was already there. He had just finished planting a small pine tree beside the grave stone. My other brother and mother then arrived, carrying pots of chrysanthemums.

On seeing the shovel, my mother said, "Let's plant the mums. That way, they will grow back in the spring." She picked up the shovel and started digging at the front of the grave stone. She is 69. We four able-bodied, adult children stood by and watched, somewhat taken aback. At least my brother dug beside the grave stone, not on top of where dad's buried. A few scoops of earth later, I couldn't stand it any more. I said, "Let me do this for you," and took the shovel from my mother.

I dug a hole about eight inches deep and wide enough to squish in four pots of chrysanthemums. We removed the plants from their pots and put them into the earth. My mother shovelled the soil to cover the roots. But it was difficult getting the soil in behind the plants against the grave stone. So I knelt down and used my hands to scoop in the earth.

My sister walked away, feeling nauseated.

When I finished, I thought, my dad would have done that - taken the shovel from my mom and patted the earth back in place with his hand. Still, my stomach churned and I too felt queasy, knowing I had just dug at my father's grave, with my bare hands at that.

But it was something my mother wanted done. I think dad too would have wanted to plant the flowers - to make them last longer. Sometimes, I think I would have made a better son than a daughter, because I answer the call. In Imperial China, when a man is drafted into service, his son could take his place if he was sick or too old. I think I would have gone to war for my father. Maybe I am like Mulan, the woman who disguised herself as a man to take her father's place in the army. Maybe it's not that I would have made a good son. It's more that I am a daughter who answers the call.

I like that the first anniversary of my father's passing fell on today, November 11. It's Remembrance Day. It is also The Man's grandfather's birthday. I found his grave and left poinsettas there. An hour away from us, there is a memorial service for my brother-in-law's grandfather, who passed away a few weeks ago. My dad is in good company today.