My son had just turned six months old when my sister-in-law arrived, bubbling with excitement and carrying a complete set of gold bowls and silver chopsticks. She said she wanted to hold a feast to introduce him to solid food.
I remembered the weather forecast: Typhoon Swallow would make landfall that evening, with winds reaching level fourteen.
I tried to reason with her, suggesting we hold the feast after the typhoon passed. The baby’s safety mattered most.
My sister-in-law immediately scowled and slapped the chopsticks down on the table.
“The whole point of this feast is to do it at an auspicious hour! If we delay, the blessings will pass us by. Are you prepared to take responsibility for that?”
My husband, Yan Hao, put an arm around her shoulder and backed her up.
“My sister means well. It’s just a ceremony. We’ll finish it quickly. What could possibly go wrong?”
My mother-in-law held the baby, grinning from ear to ear. “It’s my grandson’s first taste of solid food. What’s a little wind and rain? Our ancestors will protect him.”
But the typhoon arrived early. The moment the power went out, thunder startled my son into wailing.
My sister-in-law insisted on lighting candles and following the ritual, stuffing more than thirty kinds of food into my son’s mouth.
He choked on the greasy, fishy meat paste. His little face turned purple, and his cries grew weaker and weaker.
I scooped him up and tried to take him to the hospital, but a fallen tree blocked the road.
In the end, acute allergic shock and suffocation took my son’s life.
I fainted from grief beside his swaddling clothes. When I woke, my sister-in-law was pointing fingers at me in the funeral hall.
“What kind of mother can’t even look after her own child? You got him killed, and you still have the nerve to cry.”
Yan Hao and my mother-in-law stood silently behind her, as if they agreed.
Reborn, I found myself holding my son, just as my sister-in-law stepped through the door.
This time, everyone would share in the blessings of this feast.
