Memory Never Dies

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Wendy Lee (edited by Lee Russell)

Just before I left China last week, I found myself hesitating to visit my mother in the hospital.  She was almost 82 years old now and had suffered from chronic depression for almost 30 years.  One day last November mom suddenly became very confused and could not walk.  She was rushed from home to the emergency room and then transferred to the hospital.  Since then, mom’s health condition and mental states rapidly deteriorated.  Two infections caused her high fevers and momentary loss of consciousness.  Each time, she just slowly recovered and got better.  Even though I thought I would never see her again, it almost seemed as though she was waiting for me.

As soon as I got a break from my busy work, I hurried back to Beijing.  The moment I walked into her small hospital room, she immediately recognized me and called out my nick name.  Her smile gave me such a relief that I momentarily let go of my fear.  Mom’s face was calm, with the plain childish innocence she had taken on since her memory started to fade away.  Her hands shook slightly from the side effects of her medication.  Her situation, I soon realized, was a lot worse than when I saw her last year.  She could no longer stand, control her bladder, or remember the name of the nurse who had cared for her for the last three months.  According to her doctor, mom had minor blood clots in her brain stem and her brain had also atrophied significantly over the past six months.

Mom got a little better from my subsequent visits.  One warm summer evening, mom seemed to be in a high spirits.  To our great surprise, she was even persuaded to take a little walk.  While I held onto one arm and the nurse held the other, mom took about 20 steps.  I could tell she had to summon all her strength to take these steps: her weak legs were shaking, she sweated profusely, and she was completely out of breath at the end.  I remembered that my mother used to love walking.  Only thirteen years ago, she had insisted on walking on our cul-de-sac street (so she would not get lost) at least 3 hours a day.  She really did it every day and sometimes as many as 6 hours!  Mom walked gracefully while she sang church songs or read the bible.  During her six month visit to my home in Indiana, the sight of an old Chinese lady walking became part of the scenery on our street.  Our neighbors were so impressed with my mom that they kept on telling me how nice it is to have a mom who loves exercise.  Those days are gone forever.

I wanted to hold on to the good memories of my mom, the healthy intelligent woman that I had known all my life.  That was why I hesitated to see her one more time before I left.  What if she didn’t remember me, her only daughter?  But I also felt guilty.  I had the sinking feeling that I might not see her again.  If she deteriorated so much in just 6 months, another infection or any other complications would take her away.  This debate went on in my mind for days. Finally, my obligation as a Chinese daughter convinced me that I should see her one more time.

To my great dismay, mom didn’t know who I was.  Despite me persistently telling her that I was her daughter, my mom thought that I was her granddaughter!  As I was getting more anxious, she only smiled apologetically.  My heart was torn.  Behind this familiar smile, there lay buried a hard working medical student from one of the best Chinese medical schools.  One who had become an attending doctor only four years after her graduation and had gone on to become the best pediatric specialist in central nervous system infections.  She co-authored 9 textbooks and had numerous publications.  She also learned four foreign languages and could read and write English fluently.  Mom even started learning Japanese at the age of 50 and was able to translate medical articles two years later.  Where was my beloved mother?

I was so sad that I began to leave and headed to the door.  Behind me, her nurse and other people tried in vain to get something, anything, out of my mother’s fading memory.  “She is your daughter.” “She is going back to America tomorrow…”

All of a sudden, I heard my mom’s clear and loud voice: “I am waiting for you!” I turned back and with tears flowing freely down my face I went back to my mom’s bedside and embraced her.