It’s a slow morning. A long sip of chilled coffee, swallowed smooth as it plays over my tongue kind of morning. A ray of sunshine slivers through the blinds of the window facing the kitchen kind of morning. Moments like this allows my mind to wander and oh, my mind loves to just wander and wander and sometimes wandering into mysterious territories of my mind.
There are many nooks and crannies of my mind — of my memories that are full of gaps and holes and incomplete scenes much like an incomplete puzzle. I think people’s memories are like that. They don’t exactly tell the whole story but just that part of the story is enough. It’s all we need. And it’s all I need.
A thought I always go back to is of my family. These are the people who have raised me, taught me, and shaped me. Not just my mom, my dad, or my brother but also my grandparents.
My grandparents are not your typical grandparents that would bake you chocolate chip cookies or would knit you ugly sweaters or would play ball with you. My grandmother has a bush of a hair with streaks of white in her black hair. She reads notes of nutrition or notes of good habits she took from sketchy newspaper columns or online sites. She would grab a hold of my arm with her Hercules grip, keeping me prisoner as I half listened to her life advices. My grandfather now was a gentle giant. I don’t mean giant in terms of the Hulk, or in terms of his size but in terms of his knowledge and in terms of his happiness.
Growing up, my grandfather and I had little interaction. He was a man of little words. He would be up early in the morning and be up late at night working (yep, he worked even when he was almost 90). There was one time where I was walking back to my room at my grandparent’s place heading to bed and saw a dim light emitting from my grandfather’s office casting shadows on his various bookcases. I knew he was working and I didn’t want to bother him so I said “Good night” curtly. He turned around looking at me with tired eyes behind his light feather glasses, hands holding a black fountain pen and said “Good night” back. It’s funny though. We both were quite people who rather be kept alone with our noses in books or be deep in our wild thoughts but somehow I felt that we understood each other and needed not much to be said.
There would be times where my family would be eating breakfast together and my grandmother would mention a crazy health tip that she heard on her old people social media called, Wei Xing, like eating potatoes and tomatoes together is toxic to the human body and my dad would fiercely interject and say that my grandmother should stop listening to bad news. And my grandmother and my dad would have a heated debate about my grandmother’s indulgence in such information and my mother would tell my dad to leave my grandma alone since she never will listen and next to me my older brother would be laughing hysterically and both grandpa and I would be silent. But I knew, our silence is not an “okay, this is fine.” It was a “please can we enjoy a peaceful breakfast?” silence.
His silence however, did not go unnoticed. He was not only respected by me but also by my family as well as his friends, colleagues, and students because of his silence. He didn’t speak much but when he did he spoke words beyond wisdom. See, Grandpa had a special power. A type of power that would make you stop and listen. We could all be in a room, a real busy and bustling room with people shouting at one another or having the clinks and clanks of drinks or the thud of books dropping on the floor and my grandfather would say so ever softly and everyone in the room would stop and listen. Mainly because his words were like poetry in the raw. It cut through you so gently but so powerful you would be put under his spell.
Starting from when I was in grade school, my family would visit my grandparents in China every other summer. The 20 hour plane ride ached my bottom and I would fall asleep instantly in the car ride of Yang Shu Shu on my way from the airport to my grandparent’s home in Changchun. As a little girl and the youngest in my family, I would follow my brother around like a puppy and spoke very little as I preferred to take in my surroundings. I saw things, I ate my grandmother’s bland cooking, and I people watched as I was taken around to many parks and amusement areas by my grandma or relative.
The same tradition happened for every other summer but as I grew older and became more focused on my studies, every other summer turned into every two summers and then every three summers until now when it is when I had free time. And until now when the breath has ran out from my grandfather.
The heat clawed my back letting my skin go raw and tender. And at that point, I accepted the cursed weather and let the sweat trickle down my body and wrap me like a blanket. I was walking down the street with my dad and brother to the hospital where my grandpa was staying. The sidewalks were narrow with thick panels of concrete, some panels smooth and even and some panels caught my ankles and made me trip from time to time. There was one section of the sidewalk where trees sprouted left and right. I put my right hand over my head and swept the branches out of my view. I felt my legs give out a little and I wanted to slow down and rest but I knew that that was not the time to be weak. I knew that my grandpa was on the hospital bed and even he would not be shown as weak. So, I quickened my pace and caught up with the rest of my family and entered the building.
The section that my grandfather stayed at was one of the much cleaner and wealthier departments of the hospital. The long hallways were always in a pristine sheen and the smell of cleaning detergent would fill the air. I followed my dad down the corridor past the sun balcony with the wicker chairs and past the glass elevators and into my grandpa’s room.
It was a medium sized room. There was a bathroom near the door that had a broken lock, a small t.v., heavy maroon curtains and in the middle of the room, was my grandpa. He was tucked into bed with the white hospital blanket underneath his bony arms and he laid there silently. All of his hair has gone white and were just a few wisps on his head. His face was so thin I could see every vain and every fold and wrinkle. He had tubes coming from his nose and his hands that were wired up to the IV machines and feeding machines and other machines that I cannot comprehend. Seeing him in that state my heart trembled and must’ve skipped an infinite number of beats. My throat twisted into a knot and no words or sounds escaped my lips. I stood at the corner of the room just looking at my grandfather for what seemed forever as time seemed to slow. In my grandfather’s eyes I saw the suffering and pain but I also saw something else that eased my heart a little. He looked out the window with bittersweet eyes as if had a feeling of contemptment underneath the darkness of his fate.
Most of my days spent at the hospital was split into two categories: people watching and exploring the many labyrinths of the hospital building. My grandfather’s friends would occasionally visit him and shower him with gifts and reminisce with him on the older days when they were both young. My grandfather was a university professor before he “retired” and became head of an electrical company. His friends were people who grew old with him, people who my grandfather was a mentor to and people who were deeply admired with his work and him as a person. While my grandfather’s friends would tell their stories, sometimes I would use this opportunity to walk around the hospital. One spot that I loved was the sun balcony at the end of the hallway of my grandpa’s room. It was a small alcove that had two wicker chairs with a small stand table in between. There was a window in front of the chairs that stretched from one wall of the space to the other wall and on each side of the window were potted plants. I love to come here with my brother and sit on the chair bathing in the warmth of the sun while I looked out the window at the city view. And I would let my mind wander.
I would think about how my grandfather got ill. I would think about how unfair life was. My grandpa was a remarkable scholar, he was broadly knowledgeable like a bamboo forest strong and expansive. He was careful in the way he would do things, not saying a word but holding up objects gently and examining it as if the objects he was holding were always fragile. He dictated very little and let everyone unfold their lives the way they wanted, even if it meant failing because he knew that failing was important for success. But this all came at a sacrifice. He barely took time to take care of his body. He never exercised, he wasn’t careful in the foods he ate and he worst of all, he never did anything to change it even when his organs were failing one by one. So in the end life does plays fair. You can never have everything you want. In order to gain something you have to lose something and for my grandfather, he sacrificed his body for his mind.
My thoughts were interrupted when I heard a knock on the wall of the doorway. It was my dad. He said that my grandfather would like my brother to be back in the room. I watched as my brother groaned from being interrupted with his reading and slowly got up from his chair and followed my dad back into the room. A part of me wanted to scream but the other part of me refrained myself because I was at a hospital. I don’t believe that my grandpa was biased in his grandchildrens, me, my brother, and my cousin who is also the same age as my brother. But I do believe that because my brother was the only male out of the three of us, he had a special place in my grandpa’s heart. Did I have a special place in grandpa’s heart?
I am the youngest in the family. Even my cousins are all older than me. And everyone is talented and bright and achieved greatness so that when it comes to me there isn’t anything to brag about. I’m not a musician like Sheila, I’m not smart like David who got into medical school, and I am not talented like my brother who has won many film awards. I am an awkward turtle who is slow to understand things, I am very quiet and shy that none of my relatives believes that I can understand Chinese when they speak to me despite learning Chinese for six years and passing the AP test. So I get jealous when everyone talks about my cousins and my brother and leaves me to stand fidgeting in the corner.
It hit me the hardest.
Heat swelled up inside of me from jealousy and I felt my body was burning from both my emotions and the sun so I walked back to my grandpa’s room. One of my relatives and my dad were hauling my grandfather to lie on his stomach. Both men huffed as apparently even in the state my grandfather was in, he weighed a ton. Soon after my grandpa was successfully turned over, he asked my brother a request: to wipe his bottom. Everyone in the hospital room burst out laughing choking for air except my brother and I. Well, first my brother was disgusted and second, I was confirmed that I did not mean anything to my grandfather. It was a simple request but I still think about it to this day.
Everyone in the hospital had a role. Even if it was to help my grandpa wipe his bottom after doing business. Me, I was the awkward girl who spent too much time in her own head. I know that both my grandpa and I spoke very little to each other but I still cared for him and wished there was something I could do to help him. At the beginning of the day when I saw him I would hold onto his cold hands and at the end of the day I would say goodbye to him holding his hands. Family members and relatives would speak to him and wish him strength but for me, there was always a lump in my throat so I would hold his hands for as long as he allowed it and hold him in my gaze even after he fell asleep.
I was doing my homework in my apartment when my phone rang. It was my mom. I picked up the phone and her voice was soft almost shaky. I sensed something was wrong but I didn’t ask and instead talked to her about my week. Then there was a moment of silence. Then she told me that grandpa passed away in his sleep and that she had to prepare for the funeral. I went silent. I found out that all my family members went back to China a few weeks ago and that they were glad to have said their last goodbyes. I wasn’t. I told my mom why didn’t anyone let me know and instead I was here comfortable in my apartment attending classes and doing my work like nothing happened. I told her I could’ve seen grandpa one last time.
My family’s response to my disappointment was that they knew finals was coming up and they didn’t want me to lose my focus in my studies. As much as I wanted to punch the walls and scream at the top of my lungs I knew that my family was looking out for me and it would have broken their hearts if they say me become broken because of grandpa. So I was silent and I let the information sink into my mind.
My grandfather passed away three years ago and I still think about him. He left me with many unanswered questions and many new questions. But do I want an answer to those questions? Maybe, maybe not. Maybe I should let life continue instead of forcing life to run back to the past. But I still do think a lot about those questions because this is one way that I am able to hold onto my grandfather.
Whether or not our relationship was close he is my grandfather and he still lives on in the many memories of his loved ones.
Time can walk, and jog, and sometimes run depending on the occasion. But once time passes, time will never wait for you. I cannot get the moments back to when all six of the family members were together, gathering around my grandparent’s kitchen table. However, I also do not wish to get these moments back because those little moments that I have are precious enough.
