My Story

Death

The victim: Mom

Born: 17 July 1968

Deceased: 14 March, 2014

Time: Unkown

Reason for Death: multiple gunshot wounds

Homocide

Memorial Service: 6 April 2014

Burial: 7 April 2014

My sorrow: will stay in my heart forever

What I saw: will stay in my head forever

The victim's eldest daughter gave a eulogy at her mother's memorial service:

14 years and 45 days ago, Messica Ji exited the body of Mom and entered this world. She has given me life. Inside her I lived for 9 months. With her, I lived for 14 years. Now, she lives within me. 

You may know her as friend sister woman worker neighbor soldier daughter cousin helper student teacher classmate volunteer coworker 

But I know her as Mom. Mommy. 妈妈. Mother. She isn’t a “was”. She is not in the past tense. She is now. She is here. She is.

The first thing I can recall in my mind, was when we lived in a big city. And there was fog, and there was wind. It was busy and noisy. I remember holding her hand as I tottered on my toddler legs. I remember climbing onto her back for a ride. I remember us reading books together, books with colorful pictures. I remember I crawled into bed with her. We lived near a fire station, and whenever I would hear sirens outside, I would get scared. And she would sing to me in Mandarin, “Baby, go to sleep, go to sleep, my baby” 

At one point. it seems, we moved away. To a quieter city. I remember going to the library and playing on the playground there. And she would push me on the swings. I remember when we walked on the street. She walks on the outer edge of the sidewalk, and I walk on the inner edge.  And she holds  my hand. And she says, “This is how I protect you”. And I say, “How, Mommy?” And she says, “So if a car comes onto the curb, it will hit me and not you. So I can protect you. And you will be safe.” Looking back on these memories, I realize the true extent of my mother’s love. It was a deep love, one that started in the womb. She would tell me about her pregnant months. She would throw up every morning for 2 months. She was strong and brave. Brave enough to undergo a C-section surgery. For me. 

Sometimes she would tell me about myself as a baby. “You were a troublesome baby,” She would say, “You never wanted to sleep. And when you did sleep, if someone so much as farted in the room you were sleeping in, you would wake back up and start crying”. 

I remember she told me many stories. Stories of fiction, and stories of her life. My favorite story was the one about the 12 brothers and a chicken. Many years have passed since I’ve heard that story. I can’t really recall what it was about. I just remember there were chickens. And she would recite that story to me almost every night. And I never got tired of hearing it. 

Then there were the true stories, stories of her as a little girl. Her childhood, I would often hear about, never being able to imagine it. She said that she only took showers once a week, criticizing me for using too much water. When she wanted to give me a scare she would tell me about how she got tapeworms and had to pick them out of her butt.. She lived before the cultural revolution, in an era where industrial and technological progress in China was relatively behind the rest of the world. She made me understand the hardships she faced. Her mother, father, and 2 sisters lived together in a room no bigger than your average living room. They lived in the northeastern part of China, a place with winters cold enough to freeze people to death. They didn’t have a stove, heating, A/C, or a microwave. They didn’t even have indoor plumbing. Toilets were shared by each floor living in a building, and showers were taken maybe once a week at public shower facilities. When I heard this, I could not believe that people could ever live without the modern necessities we take for granted today. She taught me to appreciate the things I have. She gave me the habit of finishing all my food, because I cannot bear to waste it. She told me about her “fridge”. Her father, my grandpa, would store apples underground over the winter. They would be preserved by the frozen ground. In the spring, when the ground thawed, the apples could be eaten. She told me about her favorite snack, the “bing tang hulu”. Fruits skewered on sticks, dipped in sugar and then frozen, they were eaten during the winter.