May 18, 2023. Thirty-four months, my James.

This day. And every day of all days. . But today, one of those fears is pressing ever closer. I have always been fearing what it would be like when little sister gets older than you were. How can a life already turned upside down be turned even more unshapely?

17 days to your 17th birthday. Thirty-four months ago. 19 days to little sister’s birthday. Today.

At least it won’t turn right side up just because of this. Right? No, it’s not right. By any means.

But I am thinking more about this what-if today. Because the what-if is coming closer in this world.

Little sister is getting to your age. Little sister drove us on a road trip for her college visits earlier. Just like you were supposed to be driving us on a camping trip a mere two days after that fateful day.

Dear James. In all your sixteen years, you had been the big brother. Deep inside, I had always wished you were the little brother, my baby.

But you have been such a wonderful big brother. At home, big brother is your name. So is little lamb.

Big brother and little sister. Always the sweet angels in our house. Even after the kittens, Milo and Felix, came home to us.

In October 2020, a couple friends of ours, who held you in their arms merely days after you were born to this world, came a long way to visit and stay with us, bringing warmth and light to the house. One evening we were all in the kitchen, and I told the kittens to go to little sister because she was preparing dinner for them. One of the couple corrected me quietly, “Not little sister. Big sister.”

Another electric shock. My mind went blank at another cruel realization at that exact moment.

My dear Xiaoyang, my little lamb. I had been thinking when we should change your nick name from “little lamb” to something else, when you were already a head taller than me. But “big lamb” just doesn’t sound right, does it?

We were still calling you Xiaoyang, my little lamb. I am still calling you Xiaoyang. Even though little sister is no longer little.

Lately, we are talking after school jobs, career planning, boy friend, all those young people stuff with sister. How I still wish it was you and I having such conversations, my baby.

They should really be our conversations. But all stolen. Just like when I suddenly woke up from a dream, where I was back in my college dorm, looking for something, but everything I touched disappeared as soon as I turned around. All gone.

I miss you my Xiaoyang. I love you forever big brother. 

April 18, 2023. Thirty-three months now. My James. My dear baby.

When you were thirty-three months old, we lived in an apartment in Tysons Corner. We moved out after you turned forty month. Years later, you were already twelve or thirteen, we talked about all the places we ever lived in. You said you still remembered that apartment. I said no way. Then you drew the layout of that place to convince me.

Just over a week ago, it was spring break again. We took a road trip to visit colleges, for little sister. Thirteen colleges in five days, all over the northeast.

And New Canaan, Connecticut.

When preparing for the trip, it had been nagging at me inside for days: how am I going to propose to mom and sister that we should stop by New Canaan? How could I even say it out loud?

I knew I wanted to. I had to. I must. But could I? And how selfish for me to even ask mom and sister?

And then, the day before the trip, little sister just said it, “Maybe we should go to New Canaan.” That settled it. However tight the schedule, we were visiting New Canaan.

April 7, 2023 was a gloomy afternoon. Winter cold lingered yet some more. A little bit of drizzle sprinkled the windshield. The grayish clouds overpowered the sun earlier in the day. But off highway 95 south, off the same scenic Merritt Parkway, up the 123 north, we came back to the beautiful little town of New Canaan.

After eleven years, James.

We went straight to the little house on Hillside Avenue, off Locust Avenue. There was a “for rent” sign on the lawn. At the corner was the school bus stop, where mom didn’t see you getting off the bus after the very first day of school in first grade. She called me while at work in New York City, two hours away. Then, after some frantic calls with the school, I was told on the train back that the bus driver went back to check the bus, and found you still asleep in the back. Oh my dear James.

And soon, you began to tell us jokes you learned from teachers and friends at the dinner table by the bay window. Dear James, that moment I stepped out of the car and tried to look through that locked door, I could almost hear the sound of the laughter in the air. For two and a half years inside that house.

That window of your room, facing the front, right above where I was standing. Was it you looking at us from there?

And there was that hill to the left of the house, where you roared down the road on your blue and red thunder bike, and sister on her pink tricycle. Only that they have re-paved the surface. That ride would have been so much more comfy.

The little restaurant off Locust and Forest Street is now a post office. There you liked to order your grilled cheese. And there I learned how to make grilled cheese for you, at home.

The Walgreen near the train station is still the same. The only time I went there was near midnight one day, when I knocked hard to wake up the pharmacist to fill a prescription for you.

The drive to Mead Park felt like I was still doing it every day, me running and you riding alongside on your scooter first, and then your bike. It was on the tennis courts right there. You were nine. And we started playing tennis. Like everyone else, we began with red balls. But soon you complained about them being too light, not bouncing, no fun to hit. So we switched to regular green balls, but used ones, so they were still lighter and easier on the wrists. But soon the other kids would complain about playing with you, because you hit too hard. Oh my baby.

As we turned off Park Street and onto Bank Road, mom asked me where we were going. I couldn’t answer. I was all choked up, siliently, feeling I was gripping the steering wheel so tight I was going to break it. And mom was weeping.

Onto Farm road, high school to the right, to the left was South School. Where you spent the first grade, second grade, and the first two months of the third grade. Where your teachers and little classmates made you a beautiful book when we moved back to Virginia. Where you proudly told me your teacher always gave you math problems different from everyone else’s in the class after you started second grade. A large blue banner on a wall to the left of the main entrance caught my eyes, “Be Your Best Self”.

The New Canaan Day Care Center on Main Street, where sister spent her days for more than two years, and where you spent much of your time after school, still looked the same. We couldn’t go in. But I guess your good friends the turtle and the bunny wouldn’t be there anymore.

That same night in the hotel room, the same hotel we stayed at when we visited New York in 2016. I turned on the TV, there was the Fast and Furious movie when the actor Paul Walker left this world too early. Sister said, “I remember we watched this movie, and the song at the end.” Yes, of course, you, sister and I watched the movie in the living room of your beloved house, on that big white sectional sofa, you and sister huddling under the big red blanket. All gone now.

We hummed that same song for weeks after.

I couldn’t watch the movie. Later in the shower, I heard the song over the running water from the TV:

“It's been a long day without you, my friend

And I'll tell you all about it when I see you again

We've come a long way from where we began

Oh, I'll tell you all about it when I see you again

When I see you again”

It is fate, isn’t it, my James? Even though things might just look like coincidences. It is all fate.

I miss you Xiaoyang. I love you forever my baby. 

April 2, 2023. Amidst the early spring sunset, we walked over to visit you, James, and were surprised by the beautiful bouquet of green daisies. Soaking in the warm sunlight, brushed by the gentle spring breeze, they are the most beautiful things I have seen in a while. My tears welled up even before I reached you, James.

We hadn’t been able to refresh your flowers in time. But there they are, the most elegant green daisies.

To the kind fiends of James’s, I am most grateful to you. I really can’t thank you enough.

And my most sincere apologies for not having said my appreciations earlier for all those beautiful followers we had seen at James’s earlier, through the last two years, and eight months.

James, I am so happy you have had all these loving friends. And I am sure you are also watching over them, like the angle you always are. 

To the kind friends of James’s, I don’t know if you would ever read this. But I thank you. Our family thank you.

And James loves you, thanks you.

March 30, 2023. I went to Walmart to find something for the cats. Came back out, and saw the Lidl store next door. Saw that store from afar a few times before. But never went in. It wasn’t there when you were with me. Didn’t want to touch too many new things. Didn’t want to break into memory vaults too much and have nothing left.

But I went in last night. Wandered the isles mindlessly. My legs leadened. The familiarity with the only other time in another Lidl store was striking. The Lidl store in the suburb of Turin, Italy, near the beautiful farmhouse where we stayed the night, in the beautiful summer of 2017.

The farmhouse where you and sister patted a giant, old and gentle dog, big, fat, lazy, cats that were as old, and chickens and ducks, whose eggs the kind gentleman left half a dozen in our upstairs apartment. You held up the largest and the smallest eggs in each hand, with one almost three times the size of the other, and laughed.

It was a scene of paradise. A memory locked in heaven.

After dinner at the restaurant recommended by our host, we drove back to the farmhouse. Then we saw the Lidl store. All I was thinking was getting some Italian wines for the night, and to take back home to the states. Of course, the excuse I said out loud was to get the funny Italian pastas you saw earlier to take home.

So we went in. My eyes on the wines, I realized we would definitely need a shopping cart. So I asked you, my big, reliable buddy all along, to go back outside and get a cart. Sure, you came back with a cart, and we got most of what we wanted.

Upon returning the empty cart, we noticed we were getting a 25 cent coin back after pushing the cart back in place. Then I heard you said “oopsie……”. I asked you how you got that cart in the first place. You said, “ I saw the guy returning the cart from his car and asked him if he wanted me to take it. He just gave it to me.” And then you smiled one of the most embarrassed smile to us, your eyelids drooping, the right side of mouth twitched. We just robbed a nice Italian gentleman 25 cents he must be expecting when handing the cart over.

I think I heard some cursing of “ignorant fool” in the back of my head whenever I thought of that for a while.

Oh, James, we surely had our fair share of growing pain, and embarrassments, don’t we?

I miss you Xiaoyang. I love you forever baby. 

March 18, 2023. Thirty-two months, my dear James.

Sometimes, one mintute seems years. Sometimes, months and years passed by just like one minute, even though every single minute in those months and years was like an endless replay of nightmares.

It’s not philosophical. It’s reality. Looking back at all these thirty-two months that was stolen from you, my baby, what were they?

Some nights ago, I turned off the light at 5:15 AM, and tried to sleep. I knew I wasn’t even asleep. But there you came. For a brief moment, the minutes passing by too quickly.

For some reason, I wasn’t talking to you for a while. But then you came over to my side, in your red pullover, and asked me a simple finance question on a spreadsheet in the computer monitor screen: “Does this column divided by that column get you what you are looking for?”

And then you grinned, with that dimple on the right side of your cheek, as usual.

I felt a warmth swept over me inside. You weren’t there to help me. You were there to break the ice. To close the distance. I don’t remember why we were mad at each in the first place. But nevertheless, as usual, you reached out with your kindness.

Dear James, thank you, my baby.

So excited about the dream, I opened my eyes, and turned the light back on. It was only 6:05 AM.

Why does light have to wipe out a good dream, my James? What purpose does light serves if it flushes away bright moments. 

I miss you Xiaoyang. I love you forever my baby.

March 2, 2023. It was actually three days ago, dear James.

I went out for a run. There was a little drizzle. I saw two boys walking out of Oakton High School with tennis racket bags slung over their shoulders. One of those was blue and white, looking exactly the same as yours.

Then my mind drifted off to those days. The two of us hitting tennis balls across the net, again and again, and again. The rain came. But we didn’t want to leave just yet. So you would practice serves. In the rain. I would just stand there and watch you toss, swing, slice, follow through, count off one thousand, two thousand, three thousand in your mind, and the balls splash the water on the other corner. Until we both got soaked and headed home. On tennis courts all over, including the ones at that high school.

And James, they had renovated the tennis courts there. I went and looked at them a few times. I won’t play tennis again. But I would still go and look at the courts. Even though it is not the same courts any more.

I miss you Xiaoyang. I love you forever more baby. 

February 20, 2023. Dear James. We will be there in a few hours. With you. With Minhao, and his little sister, and his mom, and his dad.

Never thought I would be there sending off a young man so soon again. Minhao will be resting just a few steps from you, my James. He is joining you in a perfect place. I know you will look after him. Like the big brother you have always been.

Love you my baby. 

February 18, 2023. Thirty-one months. Dear James. Thirty. One. Months.

I awoke to the same twilight hours again. Awoke to another day before it comes.

For sister, it would be an exciting day. Because she will be starting her behind-the-wheel class today. She is already a good driver. I taught her, and trained her, all I could. Just like you and I did together four years ago.

But I had also been trying to push back on her taking this class. Deep down it’s pure fear to imagine sister taking the car out by herself, or with other teenagers.

So it's going to be a happy day for her. Just not for me. Just not the same.

Sometimes people look back in their lives, tallying the good days and bad days they had. What do we have? What do you have, my baby? I know it’s not the same. I hope you would agree you have had more good days than bad. Way more.

But still, not enough. How I wish we still have one more good day, together, to wake up to.

Thirty-one months.

I miss you Xiaoyang. I love you forever. 

February 12, 2023. Dear James. My dear baby.

Hope you still like the chocolate I dropped off yesterday. Sorry I didn’t visit you just because I wanted to visit you. I couldn’t tell you that then because I was there with another mother and father heartbroken just like me.

Walking with the devastated mom and dad every step of the way, the underwater current just below the surface blows up all over me again.

It was just the second day of endless tears for them. And it will be just like that for the days, weeks, months, and years to come.

Minhao, their precious little baby, just joined you two days ago. I know you would look after him. He was a year behind you in school. But he was really just three months younger than you. Another little goat, just like you.

Xiaoyang, I will see you in another couple hours. What would you like me to bring today? Maybe I would think of something, just like you used to say.

I miss you Xiaoyang. I love you forever my baby. 

January 26, 2023. It’s the year of the rabbit already, my dear James.

And it’s freezing cold. But I like to get outside into the cold a bit. The freezing air would sweep over me like a hundred tiny icicles, penetrating every nerve, reminding me that I am alive, telling me I am here.

I remember how you always wore little in the cold. Too little in my eyes. And I would have to keep telling you to put on a jacket and long pants. Yes, there was that late December night in Las Vegas, in 2017. It was freezing too, with the desert wind howling everywhere. I was yelling over the wind at you just outside the hotel, calling you “idiot” for not dressing more than your t-shirt and shorts, demanding you to go back to the room for your jacket.

We forget much in warmth. Cold is an aute reminder of more.

I am so sorry, my baby. I was, and I am, the idiot.

I am so sorry, Xiaoyang.

I love you my forever my baby. 

January 18, 2023. The calendar flipped to another year. Dear James. And we are flipping to anither month. Thirty months now. Thirty months already.

I had a nightmare some days ago. Maybe just another episode in a never-ending one?

Somehow, I was in a house, with rooms connected by weird hallways, in weird locations. Like a maze. I was running from one room to another,looking for something, or somebody. But all I found was empty rooms, empty beds, empty furniture and things. In the room that was farthest away, I only found a pair of flip flops and sneakers on the floor, next to a bed, unmade. I was shouting “James. James. James.”

Then i realized I was looking for you. But I got no reply from the empty place.

Frustrated, I got up to a room on the second floor. It was just one room, with windows on three sides. I could see the neighborhood roads running straight into and by the place below, and the green shrubs and lawn. I looked out of all the windows, and saw nobody. It was all quiet.

Then suddenly the windows began to get blurry for some reason. But, in all that fuzziness, I caught a glimpse of you outside the back windows. The windows away from the roads, facing nothing.

Before the rising mist completely blocked out your face, I saw a clear sky, with splashes of white clouds, behind you.

I shouted “James. James”. But you couldn’t hear me. I knew you were looking, and smiling, at me. I saw that sweet and handsome smile before the mist took it away.

I knock on the windows. There was no sound. I smashed on them. Nothing. I kept shouting and banging and smashing, helplessly. It was absolutely quiet. All the windows were locked. There was no door. I was just trapped there inside. And then all lights faded away. Even the shape of your face faded away from the mist.

I was just trapped in the darkness and silence. All alone.

It took me a whole day to figure out where that room was, James. It was the room in that apartment in Richmond. It was the room you first came home to from the hospital where you were born. The room where I told a friend, while holding you in my arms, “With him, all I see are hopes and future in life. All kinds of them.“

Your first home. Your first room. My dear James.

I miss you James. I love you forever, my baby. 

January 5, 2023. Dear James. It was such a strange dream.

Somehow I was out with your little brother. In the mountains. In the woods. Just having fun. And then, for some reason that I don’t remember, I sent him to the grandparents.

A day, or maybe two, later, mom asked me if I had heard from our little boy. I told her I would check. I pulled up the phone, and began to text him.

I smiled to myself, imagining the funny look on him when he sees a message in Chinese. So my fingers typed “Xiaoyang, I miss you” in Chinese. Then I realized I got the name wrong. I deleted it and tried English instead. But my fingers didn’t listen, the message that came out was “James, I miss you”. I deleted it again, and tried one more time. But the name that came out was your sister’s. I panicked. What was his name? Why couldn’t I remember your little brother’s name?

I opened my eyes. Pulled up the phone. And it was just one o’clock in the morning. I tried to recall the look of your imagined little brother. I couldn’t. It was such a blur.

But it was such a happy moment with him. Even though it was just such a blur.

Xiaoyang, I miss you. James, I miss you. 

December 31, 2022. New Year's Eve.

Dear James. I woke up at 4, and decided to watch the new TV show Jack Ryan. And the familiar scenes of Prague Castle, Charles Bridge, Old Town Square. The magical night light of Vltava River you took countless pictures of. The irresistible trdelník ice cream you and sister had twice in our short two-day mad dash of the city, and the grins on your face while you bit into the giant treat…...

The bitter cold and freezing drizzles of Berlin that we didn’t have the clothes to shield us from while the airlines were still trying to find our luggage. The six hour trip of Warsaw. The welcoming warmth and beauty of Lisbon. And we all found another one of our favorite cities: Prague. All in a crazy 9-day spring break trip, April 2019.

And now it all flashes back with the TV show.

Two months after that fateful day. I got a notice of an e-book available to download from the library: Rainbow Six. I was wondering why. Then I remembered the hours you spent playing the video game of the same name. Then I remember the times you asked me, “BaBa, what are you reading?” And I said , “Tom Clancy”.

No, Tom Clancy didn’t have Prague. His Jack Ryan wasn’t the Jack Ryan on the TV show. Maybe my memories are just too fuzzy. But does it matter?

Real. Not real. Memories. Imaginations. Why does it matter?

The peacocks under the shrubs of that botanical garden at the bottom of the hill were real. The schnitzel you had for lunch in that revolutionary restaurant was real. The little toddler’s blanket the hotel put on the sofa bed for you was real. We had a good laugh at how we could get your five foot ten body under that blanket.

Yes, baby. It was all flushing back. But I tried not to think. I wasn’t planning to write to you today. I told myself it didn’t matter.

Then a quote in the show stopped me cold:

“To each hour alive. For it is the keeper of our death.”

I miss you my dear Xiaoyang. I love you more today my baby. 

December 24, 2022. Christmas Eve. Mom, sister and I were out there, away from home. We talked about missing the kittens, Felix and Milo. We watched the camera feeds of them on our phones. We laughed at how they were looking for us and making themselves comfortable, and eating too much with the food all laid out for them to indulge, and how they were getting fat.

But. We could never bring us to talk about who we were really missing. We could not. We can not. My James.

Tonight, we wandered off on the trail, and walked right up to a locked gate at the end as we missed the closing time of the park. We had to double back, and missed the closing time of most restaurants. Fortunately we found a sandwich shop still open. The three of us, sitting on the bench of a square, eating our pavochon, ruben, and cubano, watching people taking pictures in front of the big Christmas tree. All happy faces. Young and old. Happy families.

Sister said it was a great dinner. She was so kind. Just like you, my baby.

And James. Even though we were late for everything, we watched the splendid sunset on the ocean. Mom and sister took plenty of pictures with their phones. Later, mom said it could have been better if we had a big camera. James. We chased so many sunsets together. All over the places. Including this one. You took so many beautiful pictures of them all, with your cameras. I don’t need any more sunsets to record.

I miss you James. I love you forever my baby. 

December 10, 2022. I stepped outside this morning, and happened into the first snow of this winter. Ever so little. More like just grains of snow. But it’s there in the air. Real.

My James. We used to be so excited for the first snows. You always asked, “Baba, can I go out to play now?” And I would always ask you to be patient, “just wait a bit longer for the snow to accumulate. It will be more fun.”

The little first snow grains were there. I saw them. I felt them. And then they are gone.

I miss you James. I love you forever my baby. 

November 24, 2022. Thanksgiving Day. Thank you my James, my baby.

Thanksgiving Day, 2008. You gave me a handmade Thanksgiving Card that you made at kinderdarten. On the cover of the card you drew a happy boy wearing a white “I Love NY” shirt. The shirt I just got you a few days ago on a trip back from New York.

A happy five-year old who was thrilled at a little T shirt.

Thanksgiving Day again now, my James. Third one not in the house you loved. Third one in the new home. Yours. Ours.

Not a little boy any more. A grown nineteen-year old buddy now.

Dad will pour two drinks for us, buddy.

I miss you Xiaoyang. I love you forever my baby. 

November 18, 2022.

Weather turning colder by the day. Days getting shorter and nights longer again. Sister is bringing up a ski trip again. It’s been a long time we haven’t gone skiing, she said, again.

Sister loves skiing. You loved skiing. We all loved skiing. But sister is right. It’s been a long time. Never, ever since that that time, when the four of us went together, the winter of 2019.

The four of us, together, on the Snowshoes Mountain. For three days, right before Christmas of 2019. We even made it home for our first, and last, Christmas Eve in quite a long time.

But I have been doing anything I could to avoid taking another ski trip. No. I can’t go skiing again, my baby.

Every time I think of skiing. In my mind’s eye it was that scene from 2019. You, sister and I got off the ski lift. Sister then split off to a different slope to the right. You and I turned left, plunging down the steep drop, with nobody else behind, around, or in front of the two of us.

In that moment, the world was for the two of us.

You are a fast skier. And as always, you curved around, stopped, and turned to wait for me midway of the slope. The dark green pines on both sides, and in front of us at the bend. The serene white powder under the skis. The bright orange from your snow pants lit up my aspiration to catch up with you.

I sometimes got mad when sister asked about skiing. How can I even ski without you on the slope with me? Why does sister not get it?

I have been trying hard to find alternatives to escape. But, is it fair to hold sister back from moving on?

That’s selfishness. I know, James. I know.

But what if go down a slope and don’t see you waiting for me any more? How can I let that last vision taken away?

November 18, 2022. Twenty-eight months already. My dear James. I thought I would just let this day go by like it’s normal.

I miss you Xiaoyang. I love you forever my baby. 

November 12, 2022. My dear James. It’s been a while. Weeks. That you haven’t come to my dreams.

You came again last night. But it’s not like in the past. It was not a story, a snippet of our life, or a conversation of us.

It was just a slideshow of you, swinging the tennis racket, walking up to me in that sweetest and boyish smile of yours, a handsome young man looking into the far horizon deep in thought.

Just like watching photo albums. The photo albums that I am to cowardice to look at for more than one year and two months.

It’s been a while, Xiaoyang, since the last dream. But this dream scares me. Is it really only the memory from the pictures now? Are there really no more stories to tell?

I miss you Xiaoyang. I love you forever my baby. 

November 5, 2022. I went to Costco today. Saw a fancy air fryer oven at the entrance. I took it home. That old air fryer that you made us chicken wings with on July 10, 2020, has recently given out.

This new one would also replace that old toaster oven that you didn't like. But it is still going strong. Even after its drip tray, which you couldn’t scrub clean no matter how you tried after our ski trip to the Snowshoes Mountain right before Christmas 2019, has totally gone bad.

I took the old toaster oven off the counter, put the new one on in its place. I stared at it. For a long moment.

I made up my mind. I removed it from the counter and back to its box. It’s going back to the store. The old toaster oven back on the kitchen counter.

It is a little thing that you didn’t like. But it is a little thing that you knew. A little thing that you worked so hard scrubbing and cleaning in that winter of 2019.

That very moment. You standing in front of the kitchen faucet and sink, the drip tray in your left hand, a sponge in your right. Me to your right, with nothing to do. Just watching you at work. You said to me finally, “Ba Ba, I can’t scrub it any cleaner.” I smiled, “That’s fine.”

It is a little thing I can steal a peek at many, many times a day.

I miss you my James. I love you forever my baby.