(Written by a former Shanghai teacher who is living now in America)
Mr. Miao's funeral was held at Cook Park in Tigard alongside the Tualatin River on a Friday in March of 2006. His wife's ashes had been scattered on that river several years ago, and his time had come.
Betty drove me there because I'd never visited the park and would have had no other way of getting there without her. When I got in her car, she handed me the canister that held half of his ashes. "Half?" I asked, and she said that the other half would probably be sent to China, his homeland. Mr. Miao had thought of that when he talked to her about dying. Nothing had been decided, and he couldn't talk during his last days, but it seemed like a good idea so she was going to figure out a way to do it.
The canister was made of a silver gray metal and was very heavy. It wasn't shiny. On the top there was a red silk fabric on which the words "shou xing" had been embroidered. That means "long-lived star", and Betty said she'd made it for his special chair at the dinner party that had celebrated his hundredth year. That was back in 2004.
Betty concentrated on driving as we made our way to the funeral, and we didn't have much to say to each other. Our thoughts were mainly on Mr. Miao and the memories we had of his life.
He was a Chinese ambassador for two terms. That's unusual. Most people serve only one, but he was very successful as a diplomat and fluent in both English and French so he was reappointed.
Interested in current events until the end, he combed the daily newspapers for news of our great motherland and was very proud of the progress being made. He was excited about the increased production of automobiles that was occurring and had expected that it would soon be common to see cars made in China on American streets. He also looked forward to the reunification of China and Taiwan and predicted that it would happen within three years. It's a shame that he won't be with us to know the outcome. He loved his country very much.
Very independent until the end, he didn't want to be a burden to anyone. The day I met him, he was in a wheelchair, as he had fallen the previous day while cooking in the kitchen. He told me that he had crawled to the handle of the refrigerator to get up and that he hadn't broken his leg; it was just painful. He added that he had four limbs and that only one was hurt so he could still cook. I admired the courage he'd shown and made a secret vow to follow his good example.
As we got to know each other better over the years, I learned that he read extensively and was active in writing to many people. He exercised for one hour every day, was in good health, and very optimistic. He told me that he didn't know the meaning of the word "depression", as he had never experienced it. I liked to hear his interesting stories.
He was never poor, but very careful in his expenditures so that he could help others, his favorite charity being the construction of a school for children in his hometown. He valued education highly.
My thoughts about him were interrupted when Betty arrived at the park. It wasn't a very big place, but there were many trees, and it was very quiet for the only sounds we heard were from the drizzling rain.
We were the first to arrive, but others were expected shortly. It would be a gathering of close friends, a kind of extended family. In addition to the priest, there would be Mrs. Shen and her husand, the family of Mr. Miao's classmates" daughter, Betty, and me. His classmate, who had died several years ago, had been one and two with Mr. Miao in their class.
Mrs. Shen lived in a house near his apartment building. About seven years ago, she had observed him walking around the neighborhood and introduced herself. They became good friends, and every Tuesday she'd visit him on her way to the supermarket to see if there was food she could bring him. She helped him that way for many years and sometimes even cooked for him, especially during the last few days before his death when she prepared the congee and soup that he liked. It's hard to come by that good a friend.
About five years ago, when I returned to Portland from Texas, I learned that he was just recovering from a serious illness. When I visited him, he told me that he had become very weak and had seen evidence that he was bleeding internally on the day that Betty came to see him. She had told him that he was very pale and drove him immediately to the hospital. If she hadn't done that, he could have died, for the doctor said he was in serious condition.
He had recovered, but the incident impressed him so much that he decided to investigate the tenets of Christianity. One of his relatives in New York sent him a cassettte so that he could listen to them carefully and shortly thereafter - on Christmas day of the next year - he was baptized.
Betty is another very special friend of his. Though she is not Chinese, she has a Chinese husband and can speak the language although they speak English in their home. She works full time, but she was never too busy to do things for Mr. Miao. When his stomach was bleeding and he had to be hospitalized, she was the one who took care of him during his convalescence. Byi the time I visited him, he felt fine and looked good. He felt that his health problems were over.
Unfortunately, several days later, he bled again, and got weaker day by day. Soon he was unable to speak, and shortly thereafter he became unconscious. Betty was with him day and night so that he would have a peaceful death. I got the news five days later. I found it difficult to believe. It all happened too fast.
He was fortunate that he had such a rare friend as Betty. She took care of him as a daughter would. I greatly admire her noble character.
Betty also arranged the funeral we were attending. It was all done according to the way Mr. Miao and Betty had discussed, as there was no procedure in Chinese tradition or western culture that could be followed.
We all stood on the boat ramp for a few minutes before the ceremony could be started, as Betty wanted one more person to arrive. We were told that it was a taxi driver who was Mr. Miao's friend and had always driven Mr. Miao when he needed to see a doctor. The driver had also helped Mr. Miao cast his wife's ashes in the river after she died.
When he arrived, the day became sunny, and I can imagine that Mr. Miao would have a smile on his fact if he could have seen us standing there.
The priest conducted the service. We sang a hymn, there was a prayer, a scripture reading, and then the committal with the driver casting the ashes on the river. The rest of us scattered flowers and the ducks swam around the ashes as they floated away on the current. We found ourselves weeping, as we knew we were saying goodbye to our dear Mr. Miao. We'll remember him forever.
The humn "O God Our Help in Ages Past" ended the funeral.
It was a simple but very special occasion.
