North Family Letters

Returning to Dust

The days flowed by silently, like raindrops dripping from the eaves of the old house. In the blink of an eye, it was the first Qingming Festival since my father passed away.

As dawn broke, the six sisters gathered at the door of the old house, carrying their prepared belongings. No words were exchanged, but a quiet longing lingered in each other's eyes. The eldest sister remained composed, carrying cooked millet porridge, neatly folded paper money, and her father's favorite Zhongshan suit. The third sister held freshly picked daisies, their petals vibrant and fresh, no longer wilted from the rain. Song Xiahe clutched her carefully stored old palm-leaf fan, its tattered surface now embroidered with a delicate daisy, a unique memento. The fourth sister carried her father's favorite side dishes, while Xiaoman and Xiaoya held hands, their pockets filled with candy for their grandfather, walking quietly along the way.

The road to the cemetery was much easier to walk on than on the day of the funeral. The mud had been dried by the spring breeze, and tender green shoots of grass had sprouted along the roadside. Scattered wildflowers dotted the road, and the bleakness of winter had been replaced by a gentle vitality. The six sisters still walked side by side, their steps no longer heavy, but with a firm sense of connection. From now on, they would walk this road together every year.

Standing before their father's grave, the name on the tombstone, worn clear by wind and rain, remained distinct, and fine green grass grew on the mound. The eldest sister gently arranged the offerings, ladling millet porridge into a bowl and placing it before the tombstone; the third sister tied daisies, leaned against the tombstone, and lightly brushed her fingertips across its cool surface, as tenderly as she used to stroke their father's hand; Song Xiahe gently placed an embroidered palm-leaf fan before the grave, whispering, "Dad, spring is here, the weather is slowly warming up, this fan will help you cool down."

Xiaoman and Xiaoya squatted in front of the grave, gently placing the candies from their pockets on the soil. In their childish voices, they said, "Grandpa, we brought you candy. Try it. It's still the same sweet taste you used to buy." The two children had gradually come to understand life and death. They stopped crying and just quietly stayed by his side, wanting to tell him about the fun things that happened at school, just like always.

The six sisters knelt down one by one, their initial heart-wrenching cries gone, replaced by soft whispers as they recounted the past six months to their father. The eldest sister spoke of household chores, noting the old house and yard were kept spotless, and how the neighbors still remembered their father's kindness. The third sister talked about her work, mentioning that her children were well-behaved and her studies were worry-free. The fourth sister chatted about everyday matters, recalling the satisfied look on her father's face as she ate the millet porridge. Song Xiahe spoke of her life, saying she had followed her father's example, planting a yard full of flowers, blooming vibrantly like the sunflowers he had grown years ago. Xiaoman and Xiaoya eagerly shared their good grades and awards, promising to be obedient and take good care of their mothers.

A gentle breeze blew by, carrying the fragrance of flowers and grass, as if their father was quietly listening to their words. The eldest sister lit the paper money; the flames danced gently, and wisps of smoke rose into the sky. They knew that it was their father responding to them.

"Dad, we're all doing well. Take good care of yourself over there and don't overwork yourself anymore." The eldest sister's voice was gentle and relieved. "You've always protected us. From now on, the six of us will look after each other, live a good life, and not let your lifelong hard work go to waste."

After returning from the cemetery, they didn't rush home. Instead, they stayed together in the old house, bustling about as they had when their father was alive. The eldest sister kneaded dough, the third sister picked vegetables, the fourth sister tended the fire, Song Xiahe cleaned the house, and Xiaoman and Xiaoya watered the flowers in the yard, tidying up the plants their father had planted years ago. The fire in the stove roared, and the aroma of food filled the old house. On the wicker chair, Song Xiahe gently fanned herself with her embroidered palm-leaf fan. In a daze, she seemed to see her father sitting there again, smiling as he watched them play, his eyes full of tenderness.

At the dinner table, they set out a bowl and chopsticks in their father's usual spot, filled it with food, and chatted and laughed as the family used to when they were together. Only occasionally, when they fell silent, a hint of longing would flash in their eyes. They gradually understood that their father had never truly left; he was hidden in every gust of wind, in every flower, in every corner of the old house, and in the warmth of the blood ties that bound them, the six sisters.

In the years to come, the daisies of Qingming Festival, the aroma of porridge on the anniversary of their father's death, and the smoke from the old house will all become symbols of their longing for their father. Carrying their father's love, they each go their separate ways in life. When they encounter difficulties, they remember their father's advice and find the courage to move forward; when they reap happiness, they also think that if their father were still alive, he would surely be smiling and happy for them.

That grave is their eternal longing; that fatherly love is their lifelong armor. Their father has returned to dust, but his love has long since transformed into warmth in the long river of time, accompanying his six daughters through storms and into the morning light, year after year, never fading away.

Life continued peacefully, the smoke from the old house never went out, and the six sisters supported each other, turning their father's unfinished concerns into a steady stream of daily life. Whenever someone asked them who they missed most, they would always smile and say it was their father, who had toiled his whole life and given them all his love. He had never gone far; he lived in their hearts, accompanying them year after year. (To be continued...)

After Qingming Festival, the spring breeze grew warmer day by day, and the sunflowers in the old house courtyard sprouted new buds, just like when their father was still alive, striving to grow upwards. The lives of the six sisters gradually returned to normal, but all the previous arguments and shirking of responsibility had gradually dissipated in the wind with their father's departure.

The eldest sister, Song Chunyan, still lives in the old house, but no longer wears a constant frown. She polishes the rattan chair her father left her until it shines, and sits in the courtyard at dusk, watching the sunset. Occasionally, she recalls her childhood, when her father held her hand and taught her to identify the stars. She still reminds her younger sisters of everyday matters, but her tone is less stern and more gentle. Whenever anyone in the family is in trouble, she is always the first to lend a hand, using her composure to keep the family together.

The second sister, Song Xiahe, finally settled down and stopped thinking about going out. She cleared a small plot of land in the courtyard of the old house and planted flowers and grass just like her father had done back then. The old palm-leaf fan embroidered with daisies was hung under the eaves, swaying gently in the breeze, as if her father was still fanning himself, watching them and smiling. She used to always complain about how tiring it was to take care of her father, but now she often takes the initiative to invite her sisters back to the old house for meals, busying herself with cooking and cleaning, her face full of contentment.

The third sister, Song Qiuling, hid her longing for her father in the small details of daily life. She still cooked millet porridge perfectly, and every time she cooked it, she would specially serve an extra bowl and place it on the table where her father usually sat. She began to learn to record the trivial things in the family, from the small awards for Xiaoman and Xiaoya to the big things like the mutual support among the sisters. She wrote each stroke carefully, saying that she wanted to write it down so that when her children grew up, they would know how the six sisters had supported each other through it all.

The fourth sister, Song Dongxue, has become less impatient and more gentle. She no longer bickers with her sisters over household chores; instead, she often helps her eldest sister tidy up the old house, neatly organizing the items left by their father. She always says that their father has worked hard for them all his life, and now that they are living well and taking care of the home, that is the best way to honor him. In her spare time, she sits in the yard and tells Xiaoman and Xiaoya stories of how their father loved the six of them when they were little.

Fifth sister Song Xiaoman and sixth sister Song Xiaoya gradually shed their childish innocence and became increasingly sensible and obedient. After school, they would go back to the old house to help their older sisters water the flowers and sweep the floor. They were also quiet and well-behaved when doing their homework, no longer mischievous or fighting. Every time they ate something delicious, they would subconsciously say, "If only Grandpa were here," their little hearts already deeply etched with their grandfather's image. They also cherished the time they spent with their older sisters, knowing that it was the most precious support their father had left them.

As the days went by, the warmth of cooking in the old house never ceased.

During holidays and festivals, the six sisters would always gather at the old house, cooking and chatting animatedly. Their father's usual spot would always have a set of chopsticks and a bowl. Gone were the old conflicts and estrangements; only the deep bond of blood remained, flowing gently in the everyday routines of life. When faced with difficulties, they no longer ran away from each other, but sat down together to discuss them; when happy, they shared their joys with each other immediately, laughter filling every corner of the old house.

Occasionally, they would stand together in the courtyard, looking at the palm-leaf fans under the eaves and the flowers and plants all around, whispering their innermost thoughts. A gentle breeze would blow by, carrying the fragrance of flowers and plants, and they would always feel that their father was right beside them, quietly watching over them, watching his six beloved daughters, living peaceful and prosperous lives.

Father has returned to dust, but his love has long since transformed into an unbreakable bond between the six sisters.

For the rest of their lives, the six of them will rely on each other, be each other's strength, carry their father's expectations, support each other, and stay together for life, ensuring that this family remains forever warm and never falls apart.