North Family Letters

At the bedside, a sense of relief dissolves a lifelong estrangement.

The day we moved into the apartment building with an elevator in town, the sky was clear and the air was crisp. My stepmother put away the old things she had packed one by one, while my father sat in his brand-new wheelchair, looking out at the neat buildings and wide asphalt roads, but his eyes revealed a sense of unfamiliar emptiness.

Having lived most of his life with his roots firmly planted in the rural soil, he now truly understands that the city is not like the countryside, lacking the ingrained warmth and tranquility of everyday life.

In the city, there's none of the lively crowing of roosters and barking of dogs that fill the rural mornings. Opening the window, you can't smell the sweet, earthy scent of grass, nor hear the shouts of villagers calling to each other to head to the fields. Instead, you hear the honking of passing cars, the tightly shut doors of neighbors, and even the wind carries the cold, hard feel of reinforced concrete. My father always liked to lean on the balcony railing and look down. He couldn't see the familiar rice paddies and vegetable gardens, the earthen walls covered in vines, or the old locust tree providing shade at the gate. Only a dense array of windows and hurried passersby. Even the sunlight seemed to lack the relaxed gentleness of the countryside.

The city lacks the slow pace and the hustle and bustle of the countryside. My father, now fully retired, used to be able to squat in the yard in the countryside, even with his frail health, touching the seedlings and feeding the chickens and ducks, his fingertips touching the soil, which brought him peace of mind. But in the city, even going downstairs requires getting used to the flat yet unfamiliar paved streets. Finding a plot of land to grow some vegetables has become a luxury. Without a hoe in his hand and without land beside him, he always feels uneasy. He often sits in a daze, muttering about the fields and the yard back home, and about the batch of vegetables he hadn't had time to harvest before the demolition.

There's no neighborly affection in the city like in the countryside. In the countryside, every household has its gates open, and people can chat over a bowl of rice. If someone is in trouble, neighbors will lend a helping hand. But in the city, you don't even know who lives across the hall. If you meet someone, you might nod at most, and no one will pull you aside to chat about crops or everyday life anymore. My father was always introverted, and after his illness, he became even more shy. Most of the time, he would just sit at home, either watching my stepmother do housework or touching the handle of the old hoe he brought from our hometown, longing for the warmth and closeness of the countryside.

The sisters saw his disappointment and felt his pain deeply. They understood his despondency. The city offered convenience, a clean environment, and better conditions to care for him, but it lacked the rural roots he had cherished all his life. So they decided that whenever they had free time on weekends, they would drive him back to his old village. Even though the old house had been demolished and only a vacant lot remained, they wanted him to step onto the rural soil again, see his familiar neighbors, and hear the sounds of the village.

Every time we returned to the village, my father's eyes would light up. As soon as the car entered the country lanes, he would stare intently out the window at the vast fields, the winding river, and the low old houses, a smile unconsciously playing on his lips. After getting out of the car, his sisters would help him walk slowly along the ridges between the fields. Mud would cling to the soles of his shoes, and the air would carry the fresh scent of crops. Villagers would gather around to greet him, their calls of "Big Brother" and "Uncle" instantly bringing back a sense of familiarity. He would ask, albeit in a daze, about the crops and the neighbors, and even though his speech wasn't fluent, he would still smile broadly.

Qiuju specially cultivated a small vegetable garden on the balcony of her new home. She bought anti-corrosion wooden flower boxes, filled them with soil, and planted her father's favorite scallions, greens, and cilantro, so that he could touch the soil and find some rural memories even in the city. Song Chunyan invited old neighbors from the countryside to come over from time to time to chat with her father and talk about the latest happenings in the village. Song Dongxue brought free-range chickens from the countryside and raised them in a corner of the balcony, recreating a bit of the rural atmosphere. Song Xiaoman carefully tended to the flower boxes on the balcony, loosening the soil and watering them regularly, doing the farm work that her father wanted to do. Song Xiaoyang always stayed by his father's side, telling him interesting stories from school and work, trying to get him to talk. His stepmother also spent every day with her father, telling him old stories about the countryside and reminiscing about his days in his hometown, slowly soothing his sense of loss.

Father gradually came to understand that the city lacked the earthy fragrance of the countryside, the sounds of chickens and dogs, and the smoke rising from cooking fires. But in the city, he had his beloved daughters, a harmonious and reunited family, his ever-present wife, and a sense of peace that no longer caused him worry. The countryside was his lifelong root, holding his youth and toil, his past regrets and memories; while the city was his final resting place, filled with the company of his family, the belated joy of family reunion, and a home pieced together from scratch.

The afternoon sun shone on the small vegetable garden on the balcony. Father, in his wheelchair, gently tended to the tender green leaves of the vegetables, while stepmother sat beside him preparing more. Qiuju, Song Chunyan, Song Dongxue, Song Xiaoman, and Song Xiaoyang returned home one after another from get off work, filling the house with the aroma of food and the sounds of laughter. He finally began to find peace. The city might not resemble the countryside, but it offered a warmth of family reunion that the countryside could never provide. Home was where his loved ones were; where his heart found peace, that was where he belonged.

All the hardships accumulated in the countryside, all the heartache caused by separation and estrangement, were transformed into a simple yet warm companionship in this small home in the city. But no one expected that this tranquility would eventually be shattered by a sudden illness.

On a cold winter night, the father suddenly experienced chest tightness and shortness of breath, and his body went limp. His stepmother was frantic and didn't know what to do, so she called her six daughters that very night. Within half an hour, Qiuju arrived first, followed by Song Chunyan, Song Dongxue, Song Xiaoman, and Song Xiaoyang, who all pushed open the door one by one. Ignoring the cold night wind, the six sisters hurriedly lifted their father into the ambulance, holding his hand and gently comforting him all the way. The originally quiet night was warmed by the concern of the six women.

The hospital ward was a stark white, the beeping of the monitors exceptionally clear. Father lay on the bed, pale-faced, eyes closed, connected to an IV drip. His usually robust body now appeared unusually thin and frail. None of the six sisters wanted to go home; they spontaneously took turns staying by his bedside day and night, each fulfilling their duties without the slightest shirking.

As the eldest sister, Qiuju took on all the chores of overall care. Remembering the doctor's instructions, she fed her father water, bathed him, and turned him over on time, meticulously monitoring all his vital signs. She never dared to slack off, her eyes bloodshot from working day after day, yet she always forced herself to be energetic, setting an example for her younger sisters. Song Chunyan ran around coordinating with the doctor, inquiring about his condition, and handling all the procedures. She also prepared a variety of light and easily digestible porridges and soups, blowing on each spoonful to cool it before carefully feeding it to her father, who was only slightly awake. Song Dongxue, with her calm and steady nature, was responsible for keeping watch at night. She would sit on a small chair by the bedside, and if her father made the slightest movement, she would immediately get up to check on him, tucking him in, taking his temperature, and changing his diaper bag, her movements skilled and gentle. Song Xiaoman, with her keen senses, could always sense her father's discomfort. She would gently massage his stiff limbs to relieve the aches and pains of lying in bed, and she would tell him the old stories of their hometown that her father had mentioned countless times. The youngest son, Song Xiaoyang, was the most attached to his father. He would gently hold his father's thin hand, lean over the bed, and talk to him about the little things at home, such as the vegetables on the balcony that had sprouted new leaves and the new rice that the neighbors in the countryside had brought. He hoped that his father would wake up soon.

The stepmother sat on the edge of the bed, stroking the back of her father's hand repeatedly. With tears in her eyes, she told her daughters about the past: "Your father suffered his whole life. When he was young, he would go to the fields before dawn and not return home until it was completely dark to raise the six of you. His hands were calloused layer upon layer. He never enjoyed a single day of peace. He wasn't good with words and didn't know how to say comforting things, but he cherished each of you as a treasure. He was always worried that you wouldn't have enough to eat or wear. Even when he moved to the city in his old age, he always felt useless and a burden to you, which is why he always longed for his hometown..."

These words touched the softest spot in the hearts of the six sisters, and dissolved the estrangement that had existed for half their lives. In their youth, they always resented their father's silence and sternness, his inability to express himself, and felt that he only cared about the fields and crops, lacking tenderness towards his daughters. They felt distant because of his sternness and resentment because of his stubbornness. Those misunderstandings, grudges, and estrangement hidden over the years had unknowingly created a gap between father and daughters for most of their lives. But only now, looking at their frail father on the sickbed and listening to their stepmother's words, did they suddenly understand that their father's love had always been hidden in his rough hands, in the sweat of his day and night labor, and in the backbone that silently supported the entire family. It wasn't that he didn't love, but that he didn't know how to express it; he simply kneaded all his tenderness into the daily necessities and the hard work of supporting the family.

After an unknown amount of time, the father slowly opened his eyes. His cloudy gaze swept over his six daughters gathered around his bedside, from the eldest, Qiuju, to the second, Song Chunyan, then Song Dongxue and Song Xiaoman, finally settling on his youngest daughter, Song Xiaoyang, whose eyes were filled with tears. All six daughters were there, none missing, by his side. His lips trembled slightly as he managed to utter a few weak words: "You...are all alright...don't worry..."

A simple sentence brought tears to the eyes of the six sisters. Qiuju held her father's hand tightly, her voice choked with emotion: "Dad, we're all fine. Just focus on getting better. We'll all be with you." Song Chunyan, Song Dongxue, Song Xiaoman, and Song Xiaoyang also stepped forward, calling out "Dad" repeatedly. All the misunderstandings, all the barriers, all the regrets melted away at this moment, in the companionship by the bedside, in the unbreakable bond between father and daughters.

Looking at his daughters who were taking such good care of him, and at his wife of many years, tears welled up in his cloudy eyes, and a faint but peaceful smile slowly appeared on his lips. He had finally let go of his obsession with his rural homeland, and he had let go of the guilt and unease in his heart. Half a lifetime of hard work, half a lifetime of silence, and half a lifetime of longing had found their home at this moment.

Sunlight streamed through the hospital room window, warmly bathing the father's face and the figures of his six sisters, leaning on each other. Half a lifetime of estrangement had been melted away by familial love; a lifetime of hard work had been rewarded with the company of his children. The countryside was where he came from, but the place where Qiuju, Song Chunyan, Song Dongxue, Song Xiaoman, and Song Xiaoyang were was his eternal home, his most peaceful resting place in this life. For the rest of his life, he need not think of the soil and crops; simply being with his loved ones, sharing meals and the changing seasons, would be the most fulfilling old age.