North Family Letters

The six sisters handled the burial rituals meticulously and appropriately, with every detail reflecting their lifelong longing.

This cemetery is built against the mountainside, surrounded by densely packed graves of soldiers. Rows of tombstones stand neatly, solemn and dignified, their sound carried with it the uprightness and tranquility of soldiers as the wind rustles through the trees. My parents' joint grave lies here, next to a host of heroes and veterans who defended our country. My father, a veteran of the Vietnam War, rests here, returning to the ranks of his comrades, and will never feel alone again.

The freshly turned yellow earth was carefully mounded into a rounded grave mound, devoid of any superfluous decoration, exuding only a sense of order and solemnity. The six sisters stood around the grave, none of them speaking, their fingertips tracing the damp soil as if touching those bygone years. The eldest sister held a dark blue coarse cloth bundle, its surface faded from starching, its edges stitched with fine lines. It was a bundle their mother had specially sewn for their father, to hold his military medals and certificates, which she had treasured for most of her life.

The process of erecting the tombstone had already been completed. The names of the parents were closely intertwined on the tombstone, with a line of small characters specially engraved next to it: "Veteran of the War to Resist US Aggression and Aid Vietnam, Resting in Peace." On the bluestone slab in front of the tombstone was the yellowed family photo. Beside it was the daisy-embroidered palm-leaf fan that the second sister had brought, which had accompanied their father for half his life. The soft and sticky millet porridge cooked by the third sister was steaming gently. The fourth sister had just pulled the weeds off the grave mound and wiped the tombstone with a clean cloth until it shone. Xiaoman and Xiaoya gently placed the milk candy and soil from their hometown that they had brought in front of the tombstone. Everything was arranged according to the most perfect image in their hearts.

Not far from this military cemetery is a veterans' museum, its white walls and gray tiles exuding a solemn and grand atmosphere. The museum displays only military-related items: faded uniforms, worn helmets, canteens used during marches, yellowed letters and certificates of merit—each exhibit holding a piece of military life and a deep sense of patriotism. The six sisters stood before the grave, able to see the museum's outline from afar; it was the source of their father's life's glory and the place he cherished most.

After everyone bowed in greeting, the sun was already setting, and the warm glow of the sunset cast dappled shadows on the pines and cypresses of the cemetery. The eldest sister put away the family photo and candy in front of the tombstone, gently wiped the tears from the corners of her eyes, and turned to her sisters softly, saying, "Let's find a nearby place and have a simple get-together. Let's just consider it... celebrating Dad's birthday."

These words were like a pebble dropped into their hearts, instantly rippling out layers of bittersweet warmth. The sisters nodded in unison, their sorrow softened by the gentle warmth of the sun. They drove back along the mountain road, eventually choosing a secluded farmhouse on the outskirts of the city. Several old locust trees stood in the yard, their branches still adorned with scattered locust blossoms. A gust of wind would scatter the blossoms across the ground, a scene strikingly similar to the courtyard of their father's old home.

The proprietress had already prepared tables and chairs. The eldest sister asked the kitchen to heat up the millet porridge that her father used to love, steam some white flour buns, and also specially ordered a dish of cold wild vegetables, as well as a basket of old-fashioned sponge cakes that weren't too sweet or greasy—a taste she had searched two streets to find. The dishes were placed on the round table one by one, the rising steam blurring the scene before them. The six sisters looked at the familiar food on the table, and their thoughts were instantly pulled back to the day of their father's last birthday.

It was a warm spring day, just like today. My father's health was declining, but he still mustered his strength and sat in the old rattan chair in the main room, wearing his faded old military jacket. The collar was frayed, but my second sister had mended it neatly overnight. My mother sat beside him, needle and thread in her hands, mending his cuffs. Her eyes showed unconcealed tenderness, yet she tried to appear calm.

The eldest sister got up very early and went to the market to pick out the freshest eggs and millet. She squatted by the stove, watching the pot, afraid that if the heat was even slightly off, the millet wouldn't have the soft, sticky texture that her father loved. The second sister, on the other hand, rummaged through all the coarse cloth in the house and sewed a new handkerchief for her father. She embroidered tiny daisies on the edges, a pattern her mother had taught her. She said, "Dad always uses old handkerchiefs. Let's get a new one; it'll be softer."

The third sister was busy in the kitchen, steaming buns while reminding the fourth sister to watch the fire, muttering, "Father's teeth aren't good, so the buns have to be steamed until soft and fluffy. The millet porridge can't be too thick or too thin." The fourth sister moved a small stool to sit by the stove, adding firewood and water, occasionally peeking out to ask, "Third sister, should we chop some more pickled vegetables? Father used to love drinking his porridge with pickled vegetables."

Xiaoman and Xiaoya still had pigtails back then. The two of them huddled together at the kitchen door, clutching their hard-earned pocket money, whispering about buying milk candy for their father. They ran all over the village store before finally choosing the softest fruit milk candy, carefully wrapping it in a handkerchief and hiding it in their pocket, afraid it would blow away in the wind.

Once everything was ready, the six sisters sat around their father and shouted in unison, "Happy birthday, Daddy!"

The father slowly raised his head, gently patted their hands with his rough palms, and a gentle smile spread across his lips. His voice was a little hoarse, but exceptionally clear: "Good, good, our six girls have all grown up."

That day, Father drank a small cup of warmed rice wine. It wasn't strong liquor; Mother had warmed it specially for him, afraid it would harm his health. He sipped it slowly, looking at his six daughters surrounding him, his eyes filled with doting affection and contentment. His eldest sister placed a piece of sponge cake on his plate. He put it in his mouth, squinted his eyes, and said, "It still tastes the same, just like what I ate when I was young in the army."

His second sister handed him a sewn handkerchief. He took it, touched the daisies on it, and said with a smile, "My second daughter's handiwork is becoming more and more like your mother's."

He drank a full bowl of the millet porridge his third sister had cooked, smacked his lips, and said, "Warm and comforting."

His fourth sister told him about his time in the army. He recounted how he and his comrades were repairing roads on the Vietnamese border, enduring artillery fire that fell around them, yet they gritted their teeth and charged forward. He also spoke of how his eyes welled up with tears when he received his mother's first letter home. He said, "In this life, your father has no other wish than for you six to be of one heart and mind, supporting each other and living peacefully."

Xiaoman and Xiaoya nestled close to him, carefully unwrapped the milk candy, and popped it into his mouth, saying softly, "Daddy, is it sweet?"

With a candy in his mouth, the father's eyes curved into crescent moons as he nodded, "Sweet, sweet enough to warm Daddy's heart."

The sunlight streamed in through the window that day, falling on their father's face and on their six daughters. The room was filled with the warmth of home cooking, so comforting that it was hard to look away. Back then, they always thought that such days would last a long time, that their father would always be with them. Little did they know that it would be their father's last birthday, and also the warmest afternoon that all six of them had spent together.

"Sister, Dad said the other day that once he gets better, he'll take us to see the military uniforms in the museum." Xiaoya picked up a piece of cold wild vegetables with her chopsticks, her voice choked with emotion, but her eyes were shining.

The eldest sister picked up her water glass and gently touched Xiaoya's glass to it, her voice steady and gentle: "We will remember Father's words. In the future, we will carry his glory and go to see the things he cared about."

The second sister wiped her eyes, picked up a sponge cake, and slowly chewed it. The familiar taste spread on her tongue, like returning to that warm afternoon. "If Dad knew we donated his certificate to the museum, he would be so happy."

"Yes," the third sister nodded, a smile in her eyes, "He valued his country and the responsibility of a soldier his whole life. This is the kind of arrangement he wanted."

Fourth Sister gazed at the old locust tree outside the window, its blossoms falling softly like a gentle rain. "Father is surely watching us from heaven, seeing us six sisters doing well, supporting each other."

Xiaoman held Xiaoya's hand and whispered, "From now on, every year on Daddy's birthday, we'll gather together, just like today, eating his favorite foods and telling his stories."

The dishes on the table were still steaming. The sisters chatted amongst themselves, reminiscing about their father's past and those heartwarming moments. A breeze blew in from the courtyard, carrying the fragrance of locust blossoms, brushing against their cheeks as if it were their father's gentle touch.

The joint burial ceremony allowed the parents' souls to return to dust, but it also made their kinship grow stronger in their memories. The father's iron-fisted glory is hidden in the museum's display case; his gentle teachings are engraved in the hearts of the six sisters.

This meal was devoid of sorrowful weeping, filled only with warm memories and a steadfast sense of tradition. As the sun set, the sisters cleared away the dishes, exchanged smiles, their eyes filled with relief and determination. They knew their father had never left; his glory and his love would forever remain with them, accompanying them through every day to come, every birthday that would be theirs.