Mothers and daughters: Connecting across the miles

Even though I left home at the age of 18, the bond between me and my mother (who passed away in 2015) remained strong over the years.

My mother’s letters followed me wherever I went. In 1979, I left my hometown Beijing for college in Nanjing, Southern China. During my college years, my mother sent me letters regularly.  Unlike today’s instant emails, the old-fashioned way to stay in touch was painfully slow. If you collected stamps, you were in for a treat. Plus, the letters were handwritten and weren’t typed on the computer, so they had the personal touch. My mother’s cursive handwriting was distinct and familiar to me. Whenever I received a letter from her, I felt less lonely.

After graduation, I went back to Beijing to work. Seven years later, adventurous at heart, I left my hometown again. This time, I crossed the Pacific Ocean. I came to Canada to study journalism, then English literature and education.

I studied at different universities and moved from one place to another: first Toronto, then Winnipeg, then back to Toronto. No matter where I moved, my mother’s letters would reach me.

She gave me news, both good and bad. Beijing was chosen to host the 2008 Summer Olympic Games and construction was everywhere. She celebrated her 70th birthday with her former students. My twin nieces were admitted into my middle school. My brother was murdered. My sister got divorced and became a single mother. My aunt was diagnosed with cancer.

Of course, she also provided me with advice on how to take care of my children and myself.

My mother’s letters kept me connected with home. But as she grew older, it was increasingly difficult for her to write a letter. She often forgot words and had to rely on a dictionary. Her letters became shorter and less frequent. Then she was diagnosed with dementia. Her letters eventually stopped.

After that, our only link was through phone calls. “Come home more often,” she said to me during our last call.

When I visited in 2008, she only recognized me for a few brief moments.  One night, she woke up my father. “Zhenzhen has come home!” she said. She embraced me and cried with happiness. But the next morning, I became a stranger again. My dear old mother was gone long before she died.

I still keep my mother’s letters. They are my treasure, as priceless as our black and white photos.

Now my daughter, a university student, is living on her own. It is my turn to follow her wherever she goes. We keep in touch by text or email. Times have changed, but this bond between a mother and daughter will always be strong.