I wrote the following post on my grandmother’s 90th birthday (12/26/2012) on a blog that I’m writing for my future kids. But I thought it apt to share today, as I say goodbye to her earthly self today. She’s wonderful… just wonderful. Amidst my incredible sadness, I’m celebrating a life well-lived and a woman, well-loved.
Ahboo (my grandmother—on my mom’s side) is 90 years old today!
Right now, she’s lounging on a brown recliner chair in my parents’ family room. Her feet are propped up on a stool with a red pillow. She just asked me: “You don’t have to wear glasses?” And now her eyes are closed again. She’s wearing an oatmeal/cream-colored sweater-vest over a patterned button-up blouse. It matches with her periwinkle blue pants. To keep her feet warm, she’s wearing black socks and Birkenstock sandals. She’s also holding a red pillow on her lap to keep her hands warm in this drafty house.
She’s much thinner than she used to be. Her hair is grayer and her wrinkles are wrinklier. But her eyes still smile when she does. Her jokes are just as funny and she’s just as kind and gentle as always. She gets tired when she walks… but when she has her walker, she can move pretty well all by herself.
Outside, the weather is clear, but windy and brisk. My parents’ house is full of Christmas decorations and Christmas presents are opened, but still lying all over the house. My duffle bag that I packed with clothes so I could stay here for a couple nights is at my feet. I’m dawdling from packing up completely. It’s mostly laziness… but I’d say part of it is it’s nice to just sit and be near my grandparents.
I’m painfully aware that they won’t be here on earth with me forever. I’m not sure if they’ll meet you… but they’re great. They’re talking to each other in Chinese about family members… I think…
There are questions I’m sure I could ask them about their lives and things I wish I knew about them. For whatever reason, though, I don’t want to speak and ruin this afternoon with my voice.
The feeling in the air right now is warmth, closeness, silence… almost reverence. I can hear my typing very clearly. No lessons, in this note to you, kids. I just want you and me to remember how it felt to sit in a room with my mom’s parents on the day my mom’s mom turned 90.