The Black Suitcase in Her Memories

the picture is from the papers here…

Translated…

Outside the door of the nursing home, very close to where I live, there would always be an elderly woman on a wheelchair, telling all who passed her by, the caretakers, as well as those who bumped into her on the streets, that she has “a suitcase’.  She’s an elderly diagnosed with Alzheimer’s, and she can’t even, recognize any member of her families anymore, but, she’d recalled, that black suitcase, in details, even if all who knew her believed, that the black suitcase may only be a concoction of her mind.

Several times I’d passed by there, the elderly woman would holler out at me, “I have a black suitcase!”, what, was the story about that black suitcase, I’d, wondered to myself, one day, I worked up the courage, walked up to her, used my unfamiliar Taiwanese, asked her, “Grandma, what about, your suitcase?”

Someone asked her about the suitcase, and, her originally listless eyes got their glows back, she’d flashed me a smile, with her mouth open, exposing the few teeth she had left, started telling me the tale of her suitcase.

It was, an easily missed, completely, black in color, suitcase, it was what her parents gave to her, rounded up the money, to buy for the sake of her getting married.  And although it was, an ordinary suitcase, she’d still, carried it, with glee, moved into the household of her husband’s.  Her husband was kind to her, it’s just, that her mother-in-law had issues with her, and because she’d not wanted to put her husband in a bad position, she’d used the torn off pages of the calendar, and started, journaling on the back of the sheets, then, she’d, stuffed it all, inside that suitcase of hers.  Like taking out the garbage, after she’d finished writing, she can smile and deal with her own mother-in-law once more.

And, the small space that the suitcase offered, became a place where she kept all her secrets, she’d placed everything that was precious to her, that she wasn’t willing to part with, inside; including her children’s umbilical cords, the first baby teeth of her children’s, her husband learned that she has a habit of collecting stamps, and bought her the limited editions, the very first picture her kids drew and gave to her, etc., etc., etc., etc.  With the suitcase, getting older, the contents became filled, included, almost, all of her memories.

Her husband saw the patches on the suitcase, told her once, “It’s such an old suitcase, you can throw it out.  If you loved suitcases so much, I’ll get you a brand new one, they’re all old now, and, they can fulfill their filial piety duties to us now.”  It’s just, that her husband had yet, to get to enjoy the kindness of their children, he’d died, in an accident, she’d placed their yellowed wedding day photograph inside the suitcase too, cherished the days that the two of them had together.

She had, guarded the suitcase, she’d, waited for her kids, to fulfill their filial piety toward her, but in the end, the suitcase got included in the assets that were, divided, after the kids fought over the inheritances, and, what she’d saved up inside that old suitcase, also, taken too, and, that old suitcase is now, god knows where.

When she’d gotten older, her children sent her into a nursing home, where she’d lived, until now.  The elderly woman didn’t blame her kids for not fulfilling their filial piety duties toward her, didn’t remember how unkind they were either, she had even, forgotten, what they all looked like, only that suitcase, it’d, stayed, intact, in her memories.  I guess, this would be because other than what she placed inside that suitcase, what she’d cherished, it also kept her husband’s memories intact for her, along with the memories of her kids, tagging along, hanging tightly on to her arms and leg, claiming that they’ll treat her kind when they’re older.

And so, this elderly has nothing ELSE to hold on to, save for the memories that’s attached to that old suitcase, and, because of that strong emotional attachment to the suitcase, that, was why the memories of it stayed intact, when everything else had been forgotten…

not my photograph still…