When my Chinese Mother-in-Law died
My mother always says bad things come in threes. By October, 2020 had so far brought Covid and cancer into our home; could anything else happen? In my wife Heidi’s home town of Zunyi, China, for a while her mother (commonly known as Waipo) had been ticking over without incident for a while, and whilst her health was never that good, she had not shown any major change. Eventually, though we heard the news that somehow we had expected, though not wanted; Waipo had been re-admitted to hospital, and pretty soon after was into the Intensive Care Unit. Before long, Heidi was on a plane from our home in Shanghai down to Zunyi to be by her side.
The diagnosis was not particularly pleasant; Waipo had an infected wound, which was preventing the full treatment for her lung condition. She was struggling to breathe without machine help, and the doctors were asking about options in terms of whether to keep supporting her or not. It had gone a long way pretty quickly, and it was hard listening to Heidi on the phone every evening recounting the day’s events as I could tell the pain she was feeling as she sat watching her Mum slipping away from her. I felt powerless to help.
On the Thursday Waipo was reportedly right on the edge, and we feared the worst; Friday though seemed more hopeful, as some key tests had been reasonably positive. On Saturday, I did not hear from Heidi, and when I called her late in the evening, she did not answer; racked with tiredness, I sent her a well-meaning message and went to sleep. When I woke the next morning, the first thing I saw was a message from Heidi in the middle of the night:
“Mom passed away”
And there it was.
What can you say to your wife when she has just lost her parent? I tried to call, but could not reach her, and I left as sympathetic a message as I could muster. I concentrated on looking after our 4-year old daughter Keira, and took her to her weekly gym class, where she jumped up and down happily whilst I sat by the side and googled ‘how to talk to infants about death.’ The recommendations came to be honest, be clear, and to the point; do not use metaphors or euphemisms, as young children will not understand them. Be patient and let them react how they want to react. As we sat in the car on the way home after class, I tried to talk to her.
“You know that Mummy went down to see Waipo, because Waipo was very sick? Well it is very sad, but Waipo was more and more sick, and her body stopped working. She died, and we can’t see her anymore.”
Keira stopped to consider this.
“Is Mummy coming back?”
“Yes she will, but not yet. I have to go and see her too to help out; we will be back in a few days.”
This seemed to upset Keira more — Heidi had already been away a week, and now was going to be gone for even longer, plus I was going too. She did not say too much about Waipo, and I parked it as needing further discussion. Truth was, I was in a hurry to get home as I did have a plane to catch to go to Zunyi to help out with the arrangements and see how Heidi was.
I flew down that evening, and was met by one of Heidi’s friends, who graciously took me for dinner before driving me directly to the funeral home. I have had many experiences of local culture in China — births, weddings, banquets, ceremonies, letting off huge amounts of fireworks — but this was my first funeral, and I did not really know what to expect.
The funeral home was a large area consisting of around 20 individual villa-type buildings, with some large, grey, official-looking buildings at the end of the row. It turned out that Waipo’s official place was at the end of the row, and I walked down and entered the building. It was a large, open room with around a dozen people sitting around tables, some playing majiang, others smoking, with a small shrine in the centre. Behind the shrine, under a large cover, was unmistakably a coffin. A large floral arrangement was on the wall behind. As I looked around, I saw the incongruous sight of Heidi sweeping up the floor, whilst wearing a white linen headscarf tied up with twine. Whether I was more surprised by the headscarf or the sweeping, I am not sure, but on seeing me, she at least put the brush down for a second. We embraced; I wished I could do something tangible to help dull the pain; the only thing I could offer was my presence and hoped it was of some support.
After a while we sat, and Heidi explained what had happened. Despite the improvements on Friday, Waipo deteriorated on Saturday. Heidi and her brother had been to visit during the day and had left for the night when late in the evening they received a call from the doctor that they should come back immediately. They rushed back, but it was too late, and Waipo had already slipped away. The next part surprised me somewhat, as it had turned out that in China once a relative dies, it is beholden on the family to make arrangements almost immediately. Waipo’s body was moved from the hospital to the funeral home within a matter of a couple of hours and immediately made up and placed into the covered casket in which she now lay, in the centre of the room. Heidi had finally finished arranging everything around the middle of the night, hence her unsurprising inability to answer my call on Sunday morning. The plan now was that Waipo effectively lay in state for three days, and then on the third day she would be cremated. In the meantime, the room was open 24 hours a day for family and friends to visit, to talk, to trade stories, and to pay homage before she left for good. It was apparently important that at least one person be there at all times, lest the spirit be left alone, and my name was bandied around as being a potential candidate to stay the night. I was somewhat bemused by this, sitting on my own all night in a room with a dead body not being my first-choice activity, but it soon transpired that other family members were able to do so, and Heidi and I both left to get some rest.
Early on the Monday we returned. The funeral home helpfully had a shop nearby, and we stocked up on waters, tea and snacks for the visitors expected during the day. First to arrive was Heidi’s aunt, Waipo’s sister, accompanied by a lot of her friends for moral support. She was not in a good way, and it broke my heart to see her grief as she wailed for a long time before eventually calming and taking the time to talk to everyone in the room. Touchingly she remembered me — although how many other Westerners more than a foot taller than her she knew, I am not sure — and I was pleased to be able to reminisce and share a few kind words about Waipo before my language skills dried up the conversation.
I learned about a few more of the cultural touch points that were to be observed. Outside of the room was a small stone oven, where people were regularly going to burn paper money, known as “hell money”. The meaning behind this was to provide Waipo with the necessary means in the afterlife; given the amount that people were burning, I think she will be very well off indeed, as there was a regular queue of people, and a large sack of paper being worked through. It reminded me that this tradition is not exclusive to mainland China and was a regular trait when I lived in Hong Kong. However, the Hong Kongers took it much further, and rather than just burning paper that looked a bit like money, they were having properly printed papers, and then paper mobile phones, houses, cars, boats, whatever material goods you might think your loved one would appreciate up in heaven.
Heidi had also put back on her linen headdress, and before long, I was also measured up for one. I asked the background, and this was called a pima daixiao, worn to represent mourning by all of those in attendance of a loved one. Quite why this was the case no-one managed to clearly explain to me, but now did not seem like the time to be difficult, and I wore the linen and twine for the rest of the day.
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Come lunchtime it seemed like even serious mourning stopped for lunch, as everyone trooped out for lunch at the same time. No-one in China, it seems will miss a meal for any reason. Here though the ‘one-person must stay’ rule was still in place, and this time I did get the nod. At least it was daytime. I settled down to maybe talk to Waipo a little and take my own moment to remember her when it appeared that one more person was going to stay with me. A very dapper elder gentleman, in pinstripe trousers, leather jacket, with a big jade necklace and a black trilby hat, and using a walking stick not unlike Richard Attenborough’s in Jurassic Park, he was probably the only person not in the pima daixiao, but he was too busy rocking his own ensemble. I sat to talk to him, and I realised that he was Uncle Ming’s father, grandfather to MingMing, both of whom were family friends who had been so helpful to us during Heidi’s recent illness. He explained that he had known Heidi’s father (Waigong) for 47 years — although quite how they met, I did not catch — and how they all felt like family together. Grandfather Ming was certainly a character, and I enjoyed our conversation before everyone else started filing back in and the hubbub arose again.
As the day progressed, more people came and went. Heidi’s aunt and her friends left, a younger group arrived, friends of Heid’s brother JiuJiu and his wife LaLa. They played majiang, drank some baijiu, and the atmosphere became livelier as it effectively became a wake before the service instead of after. A few people smoked cigarettes at such a speed I wondered if they wanted to be next one lying there. More and more paper money was burned, and I was often passed around the room in a ‘meet-the-foreigner’ type-way that I am now, to be honest, quite used to. The informality of the whole thing was summed up when one guy sitting next to me pulled out his electric razor and had a quick shave in the room.
Day turned to night, and it was dinnertime. Again everyone went together, and as this time I was on the list to join them, I came to understand why. It turned out the funeral home had a large dining hall attached to it (no-one told me this at lunchtime, I had gone for cheap noodles next door), and part of the funeral ‘package’ was to have meals provided. All of the funeral rooms seemed to be breaking for dinner at the same time though, as the hall of some 40+ tables was full of linen-headdress-wearing people all eating, drinking, and in some cases smoking. Then just as fast as it filled up, everyone left again, and as we walked out, I saw the staff starting to put the chairs up on tables, even at 7.30pm dinner was over.
Back in the room, more majiang, more paper burning, more tea. Again, I wondered if I was on the all-night list, but it turned out JiuJiu was going to do it, along with some of his friends. Heidi and I finally left for a short break before being back early the next morning; in line with tradition, following the time of death, the cremation service was due to start at 7am the next morning.
Fearing a haunting from Waipo for life if we were late, we were back at the funeral home at 6.30am the next morning, welcomed by pouring rain and a sprightlier than expected JiuJiu. Despite the early start, and the shocking weather, there was a fair turnout of family and friends assembled in the room when the staff commenced the proceedings. Everyone there, including me again, was wearing a pima daixiao, which by now I was so used to I had forgotten I had it on. The service, such as it was, was short, with a passage read out, and Heidi then made a short speech thanking everyone for their participation and support. Even though this was more general than specifically about her mother, she was choking up, and the undercurrent of emotion was clear.
Once or twice over the preceding days, we discussed the differences between Western funerals and Chinese ones, not that either of us had been to a Chinese service before. I had remarked that Western services were more formal — for instance, here although a lot of people were wearing black clothes out of respect, they were all dressed casually. Whereas for me, as I did not really know what I was getting into, I had dressed up, with a full suit, white shirt, black funeral tie. Apart from Grandfather Ming, looking sharp again, I was the only person wearing a suit, but in the end, it was a conscious decision on my part. Partly because I wanted to respect Waipo with my own traditions; if she had been buried in the UK, everyone would have been dressed as I was. And also it has been my habit over my time in China to on occasion play up to my outsider-status; on many a business trip I suited up when I knew full well that I did not need to, but it helped the client remember me, and gave me a stronger image. ‘Hey remember that time we had a laowai come for a meeting? And he had a tie on?’ Whilst that was not the issue this time, I knew that I was going to stand out whatever I wore, so I could pay respects in my own way, and it would not be out of place. Although I still had my pima daixiao on as well, although it had been tied up fully on my head now, which was a change in style to represent the change in circumstance now the body was about to move.
I noticed the next difference was while Heidi was talking; having had people sitting up all night, I had to admit the room was pretty untidy. What I was not expecting was one of the funeral home workmen to come in and start cleaning up mid-speech; not just tidying, but clanging chairs as he stacked them up. Eventually someone walked over and had a quiet word, and he waited outside until we had finished. Cultural differences? If he had done that mid-service in England, someone would have punched him.
As the speeches came to an end, we had lined up in a horseshoe shape around the table in front of the coffin. At one end, the funeral director gestured for me to start walking around the body, leading everyone else behind. As I did so, she removed the cover from the coffin, showing Waipo’s head and body inside. It occurred to me that with the exception of the heavily-embalmed body of Chairman Mao in Beijing, I had never seen a dead body close up before. Every Western funeral I had been to had been closed casket. I was hurried around without time to stop and take stock, but I took one last look at her as I passed around.
When everyone had been around, we parted in two, and more staff came in, carrying a platform onto which they formally and respectably loaded the coffin. They then carried the coffin outside and walked off, with the rest of us encouraged to follow, along with a three-man brass band, who played an appropriately sombre tune as we did a lap of the funeral home, shuffling along under umbrellas behind the coffin. Waipo’s sister wailed and had to be helped around by her friends; I trudged along at the back, next to Waigong. At one point, the procession stopped, and he stood next to me; I wondered what he was thinking. He and Waipo had been divorced for best part of 30 years, but she was still the woman he married and the mother of his children. He looked straight ahead, and eventually we carried on.
We ended up at the end of the road, behind the big, grey, official building, which it now turned out was the actual crematorium. The body was delivered into a back entrance, where we were met by the Manager of the funeral home, a man who had at some point suffered particularly severe burns, as shown by the terrible scars he sported on his face. He seemed perfectly good at his job, and ran a respectable institution. However, it was still a slightly unsettling experience knowing that a badly burned man was responsible for a long row of incinerator ovens. Anyway, while we wondered what had caused his scars, he signed off on a piece of paper, wheeled the body away…and Waipo had gone.
My expectation was that we would now all go home, or maybe go to another wake. But when everyone sat down or started mooching around somewhat aimlessly, I asked Heidi what was going on.
“We have to wait for the cremation to take place, it’s done in 90 minutes.” This threw me somewhat. In the UK, to the best of my knowledge, you go and pick up the remains at least a couple of days after, sometimes even longer. Here was a while-you-wait service, which seemed somewhat impersonal. I asked if we could go back to the room to relax, but apparently, not. I wandered down there anyway and was surprised, but then also not, to see that the next body was already in state, and the next group of mourners in there with it. I sat around, and then mooched also, taking some time to talk to Heidi’s aunt, who now had calmed somewhat from earlier. Although as she was telling that she was now the last one of her family, the pain was still evident. Finally, we got the nod that things were ready.
Part of the procession earlier had seen two of the family carrying a heavy wooden box, which it now became clear was the burial casket. Made from a similar style as a Western coffin might be, but maybe only two feet long and one wide. This was handed over to one of the cremation staff, who then turned and opened a large tray by the wall. I was expecting that there would be a bag of ashes, or another container, but no: he opened the tray, and all the ashes were there. Except after only 90 minutes, not everything had fully decomposed. In one of the most upsetting things I think I have ever seen, he picked out a leg bone, and part of the skull and slowly put them in the casket. Other bits of bone followed, and then he picked up a dustpan and brush and started sweeping the ashes into the casket. At this point, I looked away and told Heidi to do the same; this was not something anybody should be seeing, let alone close family. The casket was finally sealed, and I was worried I would be asked to carry it — not an issue because it was heavy, more in case I dare drop it, with all Waipo’s remains loose inside.
Thankfully this job was delegated to someone else, and the casket was put in a car and then driven away, with the rest of us following on foot as the burial site was apparently close by. Even though it was still raining. We followed up some small lanes before the car could go no further, and the whole party started walking up a narrow path. Thankfully there was a tiny convenience store on the corner of the lane, allowing me to stock up on umbrellas for everyone, as by now, the rain was unrelenting. We snaked a line up the hill, through some allotments and then into some trees, everyone carrying something different for the final part of the day. It was a fair walk before we finally settled at an empty plot; I wondered if Waipo had ever approved her final resting place, given that she would not have been in a sufficiently strong physical state to make it up there to have a look. Each plot was U-shaped, built up in brick with an open end. We all stopped and waited. And then waited some more. In the rain. I looked to see if there was any kind of action, but there was another man there who seemed to be leading things, and he was not for moving. It turned out that there was an auspicious time for the burial, and we had to wait 20 minutes for it. In the rain.
The minute hand finally rolled round to eleven o’clock, and the man, who I took to be some kind of feng shui master or equivalent, started measuring the burial plot. With similar precision to his timekeeping, he used a laser pointer to position the casket at exactly the right angle and place it in the plot, along with four eggs, which I could only assume to represent rebirth and new life. Also, out of nowhere, someone produced a chicken and a knife; I feared for the chicken, but it was only nicked as some blood was spilt into the plot to ward off evil spirits. Surprisingly, the chicken lived to see another day. Uncle Ming went round and collected everyone’s headdresses, which he then tried to burn, showing the end of the mourning period. He tried to set light to them all…in the rain. It did not go well. Eventually someone found they had some baijiu, some of which was then used on the pima daixiao to set them alight. They finally smouldered, and the rest of the wine was poured into the grave. I do not remember Waipo being much of a drinker, but then she was going to be there a long time.
The master did some readings, and then gestured Heidi and JiuJiu to come and kneel down by the grave’s side, facing away from him. They were generously given plastic bags to kneel on, rather than being straight onto the mud. Waigong was also asked to go and kneel down, along with Heidi’s aunt. And then he looked at me. Come over here. I knelt down, also on a plastic bag, trying to get as much coverage as I could with my umbrella. The master pulled out a bag of rice and started throwing it at us; I was told to put my umbrella aside and try and catch as much rice as I could on the back of my jacket, then whatever I caught was to go into the grave. China never stops surprising me; as I knelt there, in the rain, in the mud, in a suit, no cover, catching a few grains of rice on my back as firecrackers were then let off all around us: Waipo I hope you appreciated it.
We all emptied what rice we could into the grave, and stood back as more firecrackers were let off, whilst simultaneously the funeral crew started filling in the grave. Much like earlier, everything was done as we stood there, and by the time we started filing down the treacherously wet and slippery hill, the grave was nearly full. Waipo we will come back and visit you soon; forgive me though, if we pick a dry day to do so.
The next day I accompanied Heidi, Waigong and JiuJiu for the unenviable task of clearing out Waipo’s old things. 76 years of life and most of her possessions ended up being given away. We did find some old photo albums and looked through at the sight of Waigong with a raffish moustache, Waipo with long hair, a cherubic JiuJiu and a 15-year-old Heidi, all enjoying a family holiday together. I returned to Shanghai that evening, and after a few more days of deepest Chinese bureaucracy trying to sort Waipo’s estate, Heidi finally made it back too.
Even with Heidi back, there was one further act of remembrance that apparently we needed to mark Waipo’s passing with. The total time assigned for formal mourning is seven weeks, with a notable point for honouring the dead on the seventh day of every week. And the second of these weeks is noted as the most likely time that the spirits may reappear to visit you; tradition dictates that on that date, the bereaved family all have to leave their homes to appease the spirits should they stop by for a quick haunting. Tradition of course had to be respected, which meant that I was turfed out of our apartment as all of us, including our nanny, went to stay in a Shanghai hotel for two nights. The hotel on the second night (yes we moved, staying in one for two nights would have been too simple) was within walking distance of our home, but we still stayed there. I am not sure if Waipo’s ghost appeared in our flat and put her feet up on the sofa while we were out, but if she did, then at least she was undisturbed.
That moment marked, I looked around and wondered: could we actually now be moving to a period of normalcy? Covid was on the wane, domestically at least; Heidi seemed well-recovered and approaching full health; and Waipo, if nothing else then, was now at least at peace and out of pain. Was that it for 2020’s tragedies, could we have a clear run for a bit now? Who the hell knows, after all we never saw any of these coming, but it left me somewhat reminded, as if necessary, about my need to grab time with my family whilst it was there. Keira continued to grow like a weed, and her toddler days were well behind her. Heidi had nearly been taken away from us with so little warning. As John Lennon famously said, “life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans.” I am lucky for mine and for those who share it with me, and I was well reminded to embrace it and them while I could.
