Her Son Was Tortured & Murdered by IS, She Saw the Primary Suspect & Asked Him to Return His Body to the Family

How this woman, is so very, courageous, to FACE one of the perpetrators who’d BEHEADED her son, to find out where his son’s, death, this is, the adverse effect, left over from the, wars, and the son was an independent reporter, he wasn’t even a soldier, fighting in the war!  Innocents who still get killed by these, wars of, ideologies, off of the Front Page Sections, translated…

The terrorist group IS in 2014, publicized the beheading of the American independent reporter, James Foley, the image can’t be erased out of the minds who’d watched the, footage.  And, most people probably can’t imagine, how Foley’s mother, Diane watched her son go and chase his own dreams, and bore witness to how he was, murdered so brutally.  Recently, Diane published a book, describing the process of her turning her pains and trials of losing her own son, into mercy and forgiveness, including how she worked up the courage, to meet the primary suspect of her son’s murder from IS, and asked about where her son’s, body was.

During Thanksgiving of 2012, Foley was kidnapped by IS.  on August 19, 2014, Diana was notified by someone, sobbing on the other end of the line, and, several minutes later, her and her family learned of Foley’s public beheading by IS.  In an orange jumpsuit, Foley was on his, knees, an executioner with his face covered, dressed in black, beheaded, him, and the footage went viral on the internet.

the woman’s confronting the man wh’d murdered her son, from YouTube

Toward how his son was murdered, not knowing where his body was, Diana had set up Foley’s funeral, and, placed all of his belongings in her office in the clinic where she worked, the place became a shrine for her son, with Foley’s photos, and awards.  Following, there were the supporters who’d contacted and privately message Diane on FB, sharing the actions of Foley with her, which led Diane to discover the sides of her son she never, knew.

Many years later, other than feeling the loss, the pains of their son, the family also felt anguish over the whole, situation, not just toward the terrorists who’d murdered her son, but also how the U.S. government didn’t do anything.

A primary suspect of Foley’s murder, Kotey was arrested later, and, as a part of his plea deal, he’d agreed to meet the family of the man he’d, murdered, that was, an arrangement that’s not, ordinary or of the norm, but Diane was more than glad to meet up with the man who’d, had a hand in murdering her, son.

A mother’s cause is seen here, to ask to meet one of the man who’d, MURDERED her son, to find out where his body is, to finally lay her son to rest, to get the closure her and her family needed, because she wanted to lay her son to rest, that was why she was, willing to, go and meet up with the men who’d, murdered her child.  This takes, enormous, amount of, courage to do, I mean, can you imagine, going to meet someone who’d, murdered your child, and NOT try and kill the person?  Imagine how the woman, must’ve, worked through her loss, her anger of how her son was murdered so, brutally, to be able to do this.

Returning Home, Making Offering to the Local Temples

The amazing legacy that this man left behind, that continued to make a huge difference to his own old, hometown, after he was, gone…translated…

My Parents were the Donors, and Their Names Were Listed High up on the Walls, the Gold-Plated Characters, Burned Me to, Tears………….

Nine years ago, my father suddenly fell, got sent into the I.C.U., and, it was like that sturdy wall got, torn down for us, the waves that followed, hit us, to panic and mess.  And in the panic, my older sister and I can only, return back to our hometown, begged the deities for the blessings.

This temple is the Changxing Temple of the Wuchih Sea End, diagonal from my grandmother’s, home, with the god of ordinary people inside, that tiny temple, with the fires burning strong, this was, the most faithful belief system my father had held, all his, life.

Later, as the temple expanded, my father was on the committee, and every day after supper, he’d cleaned himself off, then, headed to get the donated funds for the temple from everybody in the neighborhood, as well as our, relatives too, he’d gotten, a ton of funds for the temple then.  Although he’d, found a residence in Taichung, but, the hometown with the salty winds, kept calling out to him; that was the soil that he grew up on, the soil contained all the trials of his life when he was young, that he’d become, connected with, and, his biggest wish was to do something for the temple there.

The temple is built up, whenever my father returned, he’d made his way to make the offerings, the giant temple, became a pillar of strength for the, entire, family.

illustration from UDN.com

My older sister and I had returned home again, and the temple was under construction, the deity was temporarily placed at a shrine on the plaza, and my older sister and I cried as we’d talked to the statue prayed that the deity can help our father, pass through, this trial of his life, and used our parents’ names, made the donations.  And this trip back home, didn’t have the usual joys to it, only with the burdens, and the, pains.

Memorial day, nine years later, all of us siblings, went to sweep the graves, and once again, returned back to our, hometown, the new temple was already built up, much taller than before, the walls glowed of gold, the statue of the deity sat looking down at us with that kindness.  And, the names of my parents who’d donated to the constructions, were high up in gold, printed on the walls, but seeing their names, I broke down, my parents are gone, deity who’d watched over us, do you know if our parents in heaven are, well?

As my father went away from his hometown to make a business for himself and returned, other than bringing back the gifts for my grandmother on his returns, the money to give to my grandparents, he’d always gone to the temples in the shortest time afterwards to make the offerings, then, treated all the neighbors to the meals and drinks, gotten gleeful in his gatherings in town; and, he’d, also gave money, resources to our relatives who aren’t doing well, he always smiled, as being welcomed back to his hometown was what made him feel most happy.  My mother always said, “Your father loved the attention for sure!”

When my grandmother was still living, she was the envy of all, “your son is amazing, after he’d rested up, he’d come back to visit you immediately!”, “such an able-bodied man, owning his own, business!”

After my father was in the I.C.U. for half a month, he’d, passed away, the committee members of the Changxing Temple came to make the offerings at my father’s funeral, thanked my father for his giving to the temple, how he’d treated the locals so kindly.  The distant cousin of his cried like crazy, “older brother truly was, kind to me!”

This day, coming home, those who are connected to my memories of the past, had died, or moved, away, and, Haiwei felt, very, cold.  Just as we are sighing, toward the ruins which was once our ancestral home, an older woman tilted her head out from the opposite of the house, “you’re the daughter of, Tieh?”, I suppose, she’s the only one with the memories of the past of this town now?  She’s already, an elderly, woman now, and yet, she’d, called out so loud, “your father was an amazing, man!”

Homecoming, returning to my father’s youth, he’d, vowed to have a skill when he’d gone up north to study, made a vow, to care for my grandmother who’d been, picked on by others; returned back home, back to the joys of his own, childhood times; returning to how my mother worked so hard, caring for my, ailing, grandmother.  Every scene that came to my mind, had led my heart, on.

“The philosopher is gone, but his ideals, stayed intact”, my father was only, an ordinary, man, but he was deeply, attached to everyone whose life he’d touched, he’s an amazing role model, forever alive, in our, hearts and, minds.

And so, this is the differences that an ordinary man left behind as his, legacy, he’d given to his community all he could, touched a ton of lives, and, it didn’t matter if he wasn’t famous, his life was, more than meaningful, as he’d, lived his life, based off of the morale he also, instilled into his own, children.

Gone All Out, Spending the Grand Amounts to Make the Offerings to My Father After He’d Been Gone

The offerings to her deceased father, as he’d come into her dreams, telling her what he’d, needed, in the, afterlife…translated…

Pops, who’d never ventured out too much, told me he wanted to go and visit his granddaughter who’d moved overseas.  The passage to Canada is too far, and, I’d, followed his words, purchased everything he is to take, so he could, go without, any, worries.

The inventories of what he’d needed included, the large screen cell phone, the massage pillow, the dried fish and dried jerkies, loaded him up on American and Canadian dollars too; translator, check, game console, check, the videos too; the personalized helicopter, the parachutes, the survival packs, all there; drivers, flight attendants, and hired the nurse’s aides too already.

offerings the Asian cultures prepared for the deceased…the money…

The intelligent sleep helping machine, fully operating, just on the shelves, I’d gone to get immediately, to get everything set up to perfect, and, although, everything was made with paper.  The offering shop clerk, knew that when customers like me comes, it’s because of the deceased came into the dreams in asking, and, they’d, given me a bottle of anti-motion sickness meds for the flight, and persuaded me to buy a couple bottles of hair dyes to help the elderly assimilate, I thought it wasn’t necessary, for dad to get his hair dyed to blonde, it would be quite difficult to track him down, if he were to, get lost.

and other items that the deceased will be needing in the “afterlife”…the mansions, with the servants and everything the deceased would need…photo from online

Pops passed on July 15^th of the lunar calendar day, that was the day of his memorial, also, a day of offering to the elders, I’d, thought of how he’d worked hard all his life, that he’d not had a day of rest or easy life, I’d, made more gold nuggets out of paper, as an add-on extra fare for his, passage, I hope that his trip would be, wonderful!

And so, this, is how thoughtful the Asian culture is toward their deceased loved ones, and, there’s the papier mâché houses, limos, and everything you can imagine that those of us who are living will need, and want too, to be used as offerings to our deceased loved ones.

Goodbye, Second Youngest Brother

Died too young, and left that legacy for those whom he’d touched to, remember him, by…translated…

“Your brother’s, gone!”, on the other end of the line, came the voice of a shared friend of my second younger brother and I, I was in total, disbelief.  “Don’t get too emotional”, my good friend slowly said to me, “he’d been gone two days, we’d found him, with his head down on his computer desk in the evenings.”

The following morn, I’d, alighted the high-speed rail up north, rushed to the Banciao City Funeral Parlor, held back my grief, made my offering to my younger brother.  The classmate of his who’d come to help out told, that a couple of days, the sound-mixing agency wanted him to voice over, and couldn’t find him anywhere, they’d found that something wasn’t, right, and called the cops, and the cops busted his door down, the coroner estimated that he’d been dead two days, and the cause of his death, myocardial infarction.

And, as I was setting up my younger brother’s final affairs, I’d learned, that he’d written a living will already, told the families, “gone on this trip of life, no need to go out extravagantly, just pour my ashes over the roots of a tree is fine.”

On the day of the funeral, there were a lot of his friends from the dubbing career, and students of his.  What moved me was, after the rituals were over, close to a hundred of the friends from dubbing, especially the students of his, still hung around outside, until the body was to get sent to Sanxia to get cremated.  Clearly, my second youngest brother had been quite well connected to others in his life, but he’d died, way too young, only sixty-four years of age, at the prime of his dubbing career, and, he’d, bid farewell to this world, so, abruptly.

But I’d heard my youngest brother told, that at the end of May, he’d gone to the Kaiyuan Temple in the south to offer to my parents’ ancestral plates, and, within a week later, he’d, left us, it’s like, he’d known, that he was to die, soon.

On the morning of the hundredth day of his, passing, the sun was shining, and I’d gone with several of his closest friends to the “Sakura Snow Gazebo” of the Nangang Tree Burial to commemorate him, and, we’d agreed, to come back to see him, again, next year, when the cherry blossoms started blooming again, and I’d felt, so much, emotions coming up to the surface then.

At the lunch gathering, in the words of his closest friends, I’d understood, that although we’d not gathered as often as we should, he’d kept his families close to his, heart, and it’d made me realized, that when our loved ones are still living, we need to take the time, to spend with them more.

And so, this is a young life that’s, gone, too soon, and there’s no reason why, and, this is how this man said his, goodbye to the world, not troubling anyone, just, dying peacefully, on his own, by himself, and, his memories will, live on in the minds of those whose lives he’d, touched, those who love him so.

The Last Tour of Her, Duty

This was it, the last tour of her, duty, she’s, just about, ready to, go now…

The last tour of her, duty, even until her final dying breath, she’s still, worried over that child that she never gotten the chance of having.  She was, surrounded by all of her children, her children’s children, and their own, younger generations, she had, lived a, full and complete, life.

she’d, stared into, space…photo from online

The last tour of her, duty, she’d, looked around the room, tried to, take everything in to her, memories, because, the next step she will be taking, it would be, into, the world of, unknown.  She wasn’t afraid of the unknown at all.

The last tour of her, duty, that was, her last breath as, a mother, a wife, a friend, a lover, a grandmother, and, as she’d, stripped her self of all these, roles she’d had to play, she finally, saw her, own, essence.

And, with that, one last look at her own, self, with nothing else on (don’t EVEN!), she’d, closed her eyes, for the, very last, time…………..

Consciousness, Connected to the, Machines…

The consciousness, connected to the, machines, you hear it, every time you visited your comatose parents at the hospital, and you sat with them, holding their hands, wondered, is this necessary, is this, right, my selfishness, for not wanting to lose them, so they’re, connected to the, machines???

Consciousness, connected to the, machines, the mind’s already, gone, it’s the body that’s still here, on earth, and you can’t, WAKE the individual up, there’s NO, brain activity whatsoever that’s remained of her/him…

Consciousness, connected to the, machines, that, is what it worlds down to, that body of that someone you used to love so very much, remains, on this @#$%ING planet, while the mind is, already, gone, so, WHAT is, the point?  Of keeping the vacant body (‘cuz it’s without any consciousness, no mind there!) here, because we can’t let go, because we want to still have our mothers, fathers, grandparents, because we can’t bear the thoughts of not having them in our lives, physically?

and here’s what that, looked, like, illustration from online

But, what about, HOW they would, want it?  Do you think that they would want to be, kept alive, like this???

The machines are what’s keeping the physical “consciousness” alive, while what was mentally, psychologically there from before, that’s already, long, long, gone……..

The White Sheets

The meanings of the white sheets, covering up the bodies of those who’d, died, a short prose, translated…

I was working overtime on Sunday, and the work ended by three-thirty in the afternoon.  After I’d left the office, I’d gone shopping at the wholesales mart, and returned home by around 4:30.  Shortly after I’d entered into my community, I saw an officer talking on his phone, there was the tapes set before him, the thought of, “did anybody commit suicide?” came to mind, I saw a white cloth, covering the body………I’d not stopped to look, just, kept going, entered into my own residence.  As I’d closed my door, I’d thought, “thankful, that they’d, covered up the body when I saw it”.

like this…photo from online

The bodies I’d seen, my grandfather, my grandmother, as well as my classmate who’d died in a crash, and, as I saw my classmate, her face had already been, made up.  And now, lying underneath the white covers, the broken body that’s not yet, patched up…………I’d seen the white sheets covering the bodies on the news, on the shows too, but this was the first time that I’d felt, that white sheet is, kindness, and, merciful.

This was a weekend, there were, so many coming and going, in and out, that white cloth can, keep all who’d, come across it from being, thrilled by the sight.  From before, I’d never thought, why is it, that whenever there’s death, it’s the white sheets that were, used, instead of the, black, or any other, colors?  But today, I’d found the white, reasonable, because, the cloth that covered up the corpse, is the, symbols of angels from, up above.

So, this is the understanding you’d finally found, of why death is always, covered up with, the white sheets, it’s out of respect, that symbol of, being, returned to heaven, a final way of respect that we show, to those who’d, died.

Goodbye, Golden Shower Tree

Saying goodbye to your, father, and the trees he’d planted many years ago, seemed to, share your, sadness and sorrows…translated…

More than two decades ago, when my second youngest sister was studying in the teacher’s college, she’d gone to Taipei for a summer camp, and, she’d picked up the seeds of the golden shower trees, brought it back to Chihshan, and my father started planting the seeds all around his patch, and the seeds grew, and, a few years later, there’s, a huge, forest.

As I and my younger sister both graduated out of our studies, entered the workforce, started our own, families, we’d busied ourselves; until after I married, I’d finally, find the leisure, and made the time, to visit my own parents’ home more, and began to, look at the flame gold tree opposite of the house, with admiration, the long oval shaped leaves, the edges a bit, wavy, when the wind started blowing, the light green waves started, turning, brought that cool.

that carpet of, gold…photo from online

The seasons of the flowers from May to July is the most awaited time, from close, the flowers looked like those, golden butterflies, about to spread their wings and fly; from a distance, the flowers hung from the branches in a bundle, with that symbol of, richness; and, as the petals started falling like the rain, paving the ground to a carpet of gold, with the blue skies overhead, clearly, this was, a beautiful, painting of, nature.

Four years ago, my father had an operation, with the series of chemo, target therapy, and electrotherapy, he’d had to, let go of his work of, translating Japanese books, and his work in the fields, and it’d, made him, a bit, depressed.  As I’d visited him back home, he was, propping himself up with hardship, sat in the living room, we’d not exchanged but a few words, just, sat quiet, and watch the row of the gold flame shower trees that he’d, planted.

As he saw the birds flew to rest, he’d sighed, “look, it’s amazing to be a bird, no problems with the chemo, or the electrotherapies.”  He’d trusted the professionalism of the oncologists, but, the side effects, and the trials from cancer made him questioned, life.  Seeing how his skin was burned by the electrotherapy, how is vocal cords got damaged and couldn’t speak, I’d felt, so sad I’d started, crying.

And now, the golden flame shower trees and I are like me, with a extra serving of, sorrows.  Or maybe, it’s because as we’d shared our, final conversations, the flowers are, falling down, like how my father’s life, like the sands sifted through that, hourglass, like how my tears are now, falling, like the, rain.

And so, this is, how you, remember your, father, by the golden shower trees he’d, planted from a long time ago, and now that he’s gone, the flowers are falling down with the season, like tears you’d cried, and are still, crying.

The Life She’d Left, Behind

What’s left, of the place we used to call, home, after our parents are, gone…translated…

The day my maternal grandfather’s home was, cleared, out, I was there too.  The noises from the fridge deep in the night, and the whirling of the washer, already, shipped, away, the folding hospital bed, the wheelchair, as well as the four-legged stand, all donated.  The orchid that’s on the narrowed balcony, still bloomed every single springtime, but, no matter how green her leaves are this year, she’s going to, burn down, to nothing.

This wasn’t the very first farewell to a home, but it was, the very first time, that the items in the home I’d bid farewell to, have no places they can, go.  That old apartment of forty plus years, the drawers, the layers, and the cracks, too many to, count.  For many days, my mother and eldest aunt worked hard, taking them all apart, boxing them up, calling up the movers, my uncle who’d come home, like an ascetic, camped out on the, ruins, patiently sorted through everything, discarding what he sorted through, there were the secrets of the pasts, stashed, hidden out of sight, in every single coat pocket; that dried up oil for the hair in the bottle, the loose changes, scattering around, the folded letters from home, the documents my uncle asked my grandmother to keep before he married and went abroad, my maternal grandmother had, wrapped them up, layer, by layer, with care, stashed everything inside her, dresser drawer.  We were like the geologists, breaking the layers of that earth open, discovering the tracks of beasts of ages, ago.

My eldest aunt called really loudly.  Look, this was the lucky writing board of our home, we’d brought it to school to use on every single major exam of ours from before, and, it’d, gone to all the battles, all the wars by our, sides.  I’d recalled this, story: the evening before my eldest aunt’s college entrance, she’d stayed anxiously at a relative’s home in Kaohsiung, brought everything with her, except for this, lucky writing board.  And for the sake of her daughter, for the luck of this very first test taker of their home, my grandfather on the next morn, rushed it to the testing place in Kaohsiung for my eldest aunt, to bring her the luck she needed.

illustration from UDN.com

My eldest aunt kept that white writing board.  My mother lifted up a rusted pair of huge scissors, from before, my grandmother would cut up the pieces of the cloths to make the attires for her children.  My third aunt who’s out of reach asked us to keep a jade bracelet for her.  My uncle took the necklace that he’d given to my grandmother from before.  Whose wedding day photos, whose engagement photos, this goes, that stays, and if we think too much, everything will be, kept.  As lightly as they were, disposed of, like that cicada, growing out of its, former, exoskeleton, a handful of the scattered light and shadows of the, past.

The year after my maternal grandfather had, passed, the family was, hit, and it seemed, that we’d lost, even more.  That old apartment was left untouched for months on end, until we’d all turned home to clean it up, until this “home” became, what it originally, was.

The stick without the clothes hanging, were just two painted bamboo sticks.  The cabinet without the photos of the whole family, reduced to nothing more than extension of the walls.  The water accumulated too easily on the mosaic tile out on the lanai, the plant the upstairs neighbor had, that grew all over the place, wherever it’d, landed.  And the future, all of these, will become, every thing that’s, ordinary for, another, family who, lives here.

We’d left a few stools for those who are interested in buying this place.  As they entered this space, they may want to, rest for a short while, to imagine how their home might, look.

As the layers of the exoskeletons peeled off one by one, we’d, been rebirthed, in our, new form.  The families kept on, changing in form, expanding, at the same time, it can, reduce itself; expand to infinity, also, become, ever the more, concentrated.

Home is a stool, the rusted tip of that pair of, old scissors, an orchid, a photograph.

And so, this is the life that’s, left behind, after someone, dies, and, it just showed, how you take, NOTHING with you when you go, and yet, we get, too caught up by everything earthly while we’re, here, even though we know, that we can’t take anything with us when we go, why is that???

The Etude of, Death

As life nears end, how do you, want to, go???  Translated…

After reading the article, “To Let Go or Not?” by Chen on the papers on April 21^st, I can totally empathize with the writer that “those who wanted to keep mom alive, can’t bear to lose her; and those who can’t see her suffer anymore, don’t want her to live in, pain”, I’m certain, that if the loved ones are in critical condition, and if the families didn’t talk about the DNR, it would be, next to impossible for the members of the family to reach a consensus, after all, this is not, as simple as a true or false.

“Do we resuscitate, or do we, let go?”, this is such a difficult question to answer, because every patient’s age, condition before the necessity of resuscitation measure, and economic statuses are all, different, it’s hard to have a one-size-fits-all answer; but, if everybody can have a clear idea of one’s own final affairs, whether or not to get resuscitated, and tell the loved ones, and when the moments come, at least, the family would not argue on the matter, because they can’t reach a consensus.

and this is, the MOST IMPORTANT DOCUMENT we will, EVER, sign…photo from online

My mother-in-law in March due to heart failure, was hospitalized, and only through surgical means, will it change the problem of her heart not pumping enough blood, to get her more oxygen, and yet, she’s already, elderly, two years ago, she’d been saved from death, as she had the stents in her heart planted in, this time, she’d told us she didn’t want to go under the knife again.  My mother-in-law is still conscious, but can no longer, live without the respirators, and she’d needed the antidiuretic injections frequently.

The surgeons asked if when my mother-in-law is in critical condition, do we want to resuscitate, to have the medical professionals perform C.P.R., to intubate, to get her a shot of adrenaline to her heart…………two years ago, my mother-in-law already signed her own “decision for her medical care provisions”, and we’d, confirmed it with her this time again, she’d told us, she is already ninety-two, she’s lived her full life, and didn’t want to live out the rest of her time in a sickbed, that everything should go by nature.

Two years ago, as the hospital gave us the critical conditions notice for her, and miraculously she’d, recovered, and a month out of the hospital, she could move around on her own.  And for this whole past year, my husband’s been, bullshitting with my mother-in-law for their time together, and as she was hospitalized again, we are all, prepared, my husband would jokingly ask her, “did Buddha come for you last night?” my second eldest sister-in-law chimed in, “if he comes for you, do go with him, there’s going to be, that light1”. While my third eldest was with a straight face, although she knew what her mother wanted, but still felt upset over how her second eldest sister and  youngest brother’s means of joking with my mother-in-law on such serious, matters.

These few years, my mother-in-law’s conditions worsened, and my husband often chatted with her on the matters of life and death, few years ago, both my husband and I signed our own terminal decision, and as my mother-in-law learned that we had, she’d inquired about it, and signed her own terminal decision of care two years ago herself.  She’d told her will to every one of her children, and so, this time she was hospitalized, and didn’t have any appetite, the doctors asked if she wanted to get the feeding tubes into  her, my mother-in-law told them again, she wanted to die naturally.  I’d once heard from a relative that her mother was starved to death, because her older sister-in-law didn’t take her mother to get the injections of the nutrition she’d needed; the daughter-in-law who’d cared for her mother-in-law for over decade’s time, how upset she would feel, if she heard the bad reputation that was, forced onto her.

I’m grateful for my mother-in-law, to save the difficulties from us, she’d planned ahead, made the decision by herself.  On the morning that she passed, after the formula was given to her at the hospital, she’d told us she wanted to take a nap, then, she’d, passed away peacefully, in her, sleep.  We are all, sad, but, we don’t feel, any regrets, or loss!

And so, this is on the importance of dying with dignity, and, not all of us are allowed to have that, because, these days, the medical advances is good for keeping people alive, but without the awareness of how keeping someone alive for a long, long time, means that the quality of life drops, considerable, and, this also points out the necessity for a D.N.R. to be signed by the individuals who are, aging, because unless you want the tubes in and out of your body, as you worked really hard, not to, swallow down your, final breaths…