Even though she was gone, I saw her everywhere. When I tried to rip a sheet of plastic wrap, I was reminded of Mother’s swift hand, jerking the translucent sheet against the perforated edge and snapping it into place over a bowl, leaving no wrinkles or waves, just the reflection of a glasslike surface. The twisting, tangling, and knotting of the plastic in my hands reduced me to tears.

The macramé that held her plants, the crocheted tablecloths, her apron, the wok on the stove, the laundry piling up, her tennis racquet, the dress Po Po gave her. One day, I saw the bandages she had habitually wrapped around her ankle lying on the floor in my parents’ bedroom. She had shed them like a skin she didn’t need anymore.

I should have studied harder in school, should’ve been kinder to my sister, should’ve cooked the rice before Mother asked me, should’ve been quieter when Father was sleeping. We all gave her so many reasons to leave. As the weeks passed, I blamed everyone and held my resentment tightly in my chest.

At the end of August 1988, mere months after the strike ended, layoffs were announced and hundreds of employees were let go. Weeks later, the mine was shut down. Disappointment draped over the town more heavily as news of lost pensions, built over many years by labouring men, sank into the abyss the mine left behind.

An exodus from Sparwood ensued. Block after block, for-sale signs dotted the landscape like candidate signs during an election.

Father resisted leaving as long as he could. I think he hoped that Mother would return, and he worried leaving would make it hard for her to find us. Over time, his hope folded like an umbrella. More than that, I think Father wanted to prove Mother wrong. He wanted to show that we could stay, thrive, and build a permanent life in Sparwood.

I was sitting at the kitchen table when Auntie Choo Neo told Father, “Swee Hua is not coming back, and you need to accept that. It’s time to leave, Ah Loy. Let the girls begin a new school year in a new school. Don’t wait until it’s too late to leave.”

Long after Uncle Ming, Uncle Roy, Uncle Paul, Uncle Sam, and even Auntie Choo Neo left, Father held out. It was only after confirmation that Father had lost his pension from twelve years of work in the mine that we joined everyone in Calgary. Uncle Stephen had found work at a construction company and asked his boss if he would hire his brother-in-law. Father reluctantly agreed to take the job. We sold our house for a pittance, left the mountains, and came with a few belongings to the grassy foothills of a large city.

On moving day, I teared up looking at the empty house. The cavernous rooms seemed larger, and my memories of our home were already beginning to fade. I saw Mother sitting on the couch, stroking her ankle. I smelled her cooking and heard her jade bracelet clanging against the countertop. I sat in the foyer and cried. Bea sat next to me, clutching her stuffed tiger, and cried, too. When Father came to fetch us, he didn’t say anything but took our hands and led us one by one into the van, holding back his own tears.