It’s funny the little details we remember about the people we love. One time, when I was standing in my grandpa’s apartment with him, he was finding some saran wrap for me, and I was standing to the right of him. I stepped back a little bit, and I don’t know why I did this, but I remember explicitly thinking to myself, ‘I’m going to remember this one little moment forever.’ And I felt an urgency to do so. I commanded myself to. It was such a trivial moment, but it’s such an intimate and every-day-normal moment that I’ll always have between me and my grandpa, and that’s what makes it so special to me.
After he passed, my sister made sure to tell me not to give my mom a hard time. Because my mom was the primary person in charge of his health and because she felt like she could only trust herself to take care of her dad, she went to the nursing home he was staying in (an extremely depressing place) every single day. I could tell that seeing her dad wither away was tearing her apart, and I didn’t have the heart to tell her that I felt the same way. Sometimes, I would avoid visiting my grandpa, because I couldn’t take seeing him like that. I couldn’t take laying in my bed at night with my new memories of my grandpa trying to rip off his catheter, and I couldn’t stand the new memories of him with his eyebrows furrowed in pain, screaming for help. I can never get the memories of him getting angry at everyone who tried to touch him out of my head – he would try to punch or kick anyone who came near his bed. He was a person who loved life, who loved adventure, and who loved nature, and he was stuck in a dimly-lit, dingy, depressing room with poorly – ventilated air, often sitting in his own shit. He wasn’t able to walk, he became confused and very angry, and he soon lost his ability to speak. My grandpa was a fighter. He fought for 10 months before he let go, and he passed away on the morning on August 8, 2011.
My mom told me that at one point she told my grandpa not to worry, because she was going to quit her job to take care of him. That’s how much she cared. He said that that was the last thing he wanted her to do, because he wanted her to live her own life and not to sacrifice her happiness to try and keep him alive for as long as possible… because what kind of life would that be…? For the both of them? The night before my grandpa died, my grandpa somehow managed to whisper to my mom that ‘Everything is okay now. You can go home now.” In the morning, he was gone.
The night before my grandpa died, I distinctly remember my mom asking me if I wanted to go. I had a sink full of dishes to wash, and I knew that I would regret not going. I just had a gut feeling that I would regret not going that very night. I don’t know how to explain it, but I just knew that I would regret not going with her. When the door closed and my mom left, I felt immobilized. Should I run after her, or not?
I stayed at home, and I regret it, and I think about it all the time. Sometimes I think about how long that moment felt – how, as each second passed, I had a chance to go after her, and I just didn’t. I’m trying to learn to forgive myself.
On the morning of August 8th, I had an end-of-the-summer luncheon to go to for all of the interns who worked at the company I was interning for that summer. Before lunch, Mayor Menino gave a speech about how education is important, don’t do drugs, etc. Then, all of the interns played this game where we each had a piece of paper on our foreheads, and we had to figure out what was written on the paper on our foreheads by asking other people questions (e.g. Peanut Butter, Angelina Jolie, Big Bird, etc.) I kept feeling my phone vibrating, and at first I was really annoyed that someone was interrupting our stupid silly game, but when I paused to think about who it could be, my heart dropped to the pit of my stomach. I started sweating, I needed a way to get out without letting anyone know that I was gone, and I thought, ‘Shit. Shit. Shit. My boss is coming to the luncheon to celebrate the end of my internship with me, and I have to go. I have to get out of here. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.’ I considered sitting down and eating like a normal person, but as I waited in line, I just couldn’t do it. I saw my boss, and I marched up to her, and I said, “J, I’m really sorry, but I can’t stay. My grandpa just passed aw-,” and I broke down crying in front of everyone in line. My boss pulled me aside to the elevators, and she gave me a hug and said that she was going to get us out of there. She immediately called her husband to see if he was anywhere in the area and if he could give us a ride, but he wasn’t, so she insisted on riding the T with me, so I wouldn’t be alone. It was so, so incredibly kind of her.
When I got to my grandpa, he looked so different. His eyebrows weren’t furrowed anymore. I saw no more pain. His fists were closed in a very relaxed way, and when I held his hand, his palm was still warm. I felt so much relief and so much sadness and heartbreak at the same time. Even writing about this makes me cry. I miss him so much. He meant so much to me.
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In K1, he used to pick me up from preschool on his bike, and he would have me sit on the metal bar as he biked along. It was so laughably painful. But I never said anything, because I am definitely never one to complain (a blessing and a curse) and I look fondly back on those memories.
He also stole my bag of Combos once. When he had one and put them back in the closet (of snacks and ramen and rice), I tried to get them back, but he said, “No. Don’t eat too many of those. I love those.” Where did he think that the Combos came from? Did he think that they just magically appeared on the kitchen table??
I remember having dinner with him and the family at Joyful Garden – the last time we did this before he got sick – and he insisted on paying. My mom found his journal after he died. His journal entry that day said, “I was so happy to treat my family to dinner at Joyful Garden tonight. It was wonderful to be with everyone. I am so happy to have such a great family.”
Once, at my old house, my grandpa tried to ride a bike to see if he still could (He was about 70 at this point). He kind of fell to the side, but caught himself. I remember that instead of rushing to see if he was okay (which my dad and uncle did), I stood there, saw that he was okay, and then walked away, and cried… and I remember feeling very afraid. Why am I so bad at being emotional in front of my family? This is something that I’m going to work on
I remember my grandpa carrying around a “translation” of how you say “Princeton” in Chinese – “Po-Lum-See-Dun” (basically Chinese words smashed together to sound like “Princeton”). He carried around this little piece of paper everywhere to brag to all of his friends about my brother going to Princeton for college.
I also remember his absence when I was little. When my grandma would babysit me, he would often be gone on a long walk, outside doing Tai Chi, or downstairs in the senior citizen computer room learning how to use the internet. It’s pretty awesome that my grandpa never stopped learning, and he never wanted to stop either.
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I was really afraid to do it – actually I was completely terrified – but I had a long talk with my mom last night about my feelings of depression. I felt so relieved to tell her about how much I missed my grandpa, and I think she was surprised by how much his death influenced me. There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t think of him. The funny thing is that I was so incredibly afraid to tell my mom that I was feeling depressed, but once I told her, I felt so relieved. I feel like this is my first step in what will be a really long journey of me being more open about my feelings.
Every so often (my sister shared this with me), my sister will see 8’s and she’ll take it as a sign that my grandpa is near. When our oven broke, the time read “8:88.” It was his favorite number, because it is extremely lucky in the Chinese tradition. Just now, I was editing this post, and I realized that it’s January 8th. It could be a false sense of security, but it’s still a sense of security for me. I’m not religious, I don’t know if I’m “spiritual,” but sometimes I feel like my grandpa just has to be somewhere out there. You might possibly think it’s naïve, but who cares? How I feel is how I feel, and I know that my grandpa, wherever he is, or wherever he isn’t, wants me to be happy and to live my life just like he wanted my mom to live her life. I’m just trying so hard to forgive myself now, and I’m trying so hard to enjoy life and enjoy being this age, because that’s what my grandpa would have wanted for me.
reginaloops 