I wander through a gravel path,

surrounded by flowers of purple and red.

A butterfly quivers its wings hardly,

flies over me struggle like it is going to fall at any minutes.

After a corner turned,

the air becomes solemn silence.

A tomb made by white marble stands alone

in the middle of a well-cut lawn,

on the left, a tiny American flag lays in the windless air

lazily.

The tomb reads FRANKLIN DELANO ROOSEVELT 1882-1945.

The man once was the most powerful person of the free world,

now he lies underground

vulnerably

like everyone else,

like my great grandfather from China,

even ordinary people like you and me can

stand above him.   

There is an old saying in China:

You brought nothing when you came, so you will bring nothing with you when you are gone.

Mr. Roosevelt was

the president of the United States,

my great grandfather was a poor farmer.

Mr. Roosevelt won World War II,

my great grandfather starved to death in the People’s Commune Movement.

But they ended up the same:

decomposing into the dirt.

Something doesn’t seem right, does it?

what is the meaning of life

when there will always be an end, that

everything we had achieved

disappears;

when the power of death

strips us naked

from the bubbles of the human society,

Would my great grandfather agree that there is a meaning of life,

when he and millions of other commune farmers became proofs of “Communism doesn’t work that way”?

Would Mr. Roosevelt agree that there is a meaning of life,

when he found out that after all the great things he had achieved, he was going to end up like an old man from China that he never heard before?

I’m not Mr. Roosevelt nor my great grandfather, but I know they would.

I know it because

I see respect

in old people’s eyes when they visit the cemetery.

Mr. Roosevelt led them out of the shadow of the Great Depression.

I know it because,

I see happy and healthy families crowded in the reunion dinner of Chinese New Year.

My great grandfather could save the food for himself,

but he left the food to his wife and three children.

They would tell us if they are here, that

it is not how rich or powerful you are, but

the things you left to others really matter.

Although Mr. Roosevelt’s flesh was dead, America remains a great nation.

Although My great grandfather’s life was sacrificed, his family’s lives were insured.

It is because of them,

I can be in this garden and watch

the butterfly flies into the forest

with a full pack of pollen.