CHAPTER 62

2026-05-13

During Mother’s Day in May, Lun missed his mother.

I had just finished visiting Lun. As usual, after helping him brush his teeth, he was preparing for dinner. While he paced back and forth, a staff member at the group home waited until he had walked farther away, then beckoned me over quietly. She softly told me that on the recent Mother’s Day Sunday, all the residents had gone to bed as usual after lights out at 9 p.m. At 11 p.m., the overnight staff took over the shift, yet by 2 a.m., Lun was still unable to fall asleep.

Last year, Lun had once asked, “Mommy?”

The staff replied, “She has gone home,” referring to her ashes having been taken home. This Mother’s Day, however, he kept calling for his mother until daybreak.

When I visited him, he appeared to be in good spirits and showed no unusual signs. It seemed he had managed to sleep better over the following two nights and had recovered his normal condition. He was simply waiting eagerly for my visit and the three kinds of snacks I would bring him.

The staff guessed that on Mother’s Day, the employees on duty had exchanged greetings about the occasion, which reminded him of it. He may suddenly have realized that he had not seen his mother for a very long time — nearly two years. Missing her deeply yet unable to see her, he became restless and could not sleep the entire night.

My heart ached for him. I felt a sense of loneliness and helplessness on his behalf. His mother, who had adored him dearly, was suddenly gone, disappearing without any chance to say goodbye to him. It is a knot that can never truly be untied.

And the dead cannot return to life — yet how much can Lun really understand? That too is an unsolvable mystery.

Does he completely fail to understand illness or death? I cannot say for certain. I once mentioned an experience at a hospital parking lot in New Westminster, a hospital that has long since closed. My wife had gone to visit a seriously ill friend. After she returned to the car to take over watching Lun, I went into the hospital myself to visit the friend. It turned out that all along, Lun had been shouting inside the car for me to come back: “Come back!” It is very possible that he had been silently listening to our conversation about the friend’s illness, forming his own thoughts or judgments about severe sickness and death.

Tonight, however, he showed no unusual behaviour. After dinner, he happily enjoyed his three rounds of snacks, which I gave him separately, making sure he drank water between each round. The snacks included three sandwich cookies, ten round shaped potato chips, and four Hong Kong-style milk wafers. I dared not “go easy” on him by indulging him too much, fearing he would overeat and end up with a stomachache.

After eating, he resumed pacing. Later, he returned to his bedroom and this time sat on my lap. He lifted up his T-shirt, exposed his back, and signalled for me to scratch it for him — three rounds front and back. The young master was itchy again, a sign that summer had arrived and his skin allergies were acting up once more. Scratching his itch is this old father’s duty and privilege, and I shall faithfully carry it out.

After returning home, I told his younger brother that his elder brother had missed their mother so much that he stayed awake the whole night. His younger brother was surprised as well. I told him that if Lun does not ask, I will not take the initiative to tell him that his mother has passed away. But if he does ask, I will try, according to his level of understanding, to tell him the truth. He may understand human feelings more deeply than I imagine.

“Lun’s World – Epilogue” still belongs to the series “Lun’s World,” collecting articles directly related to him that were never previously published in the book, for the sake of distinction.