Travel Rogue

She was also diabetic. I remember once, when she visited us in San Diego, she said you could whistle through a Lifesaver. I was probably eight at the time, and thought this would be the coolest trick ever. I begged and pleaded, aunties and mom scolded me from the front seat of the car, "Grandma can't have sugar!" they said. But there is not a grandma in the world that could resist their only granddaughter begging advice. She popped a butter rum lifesaver in her mouth and blew.

We grew apart later. There was the expected language barrier, (she could speak in English, but it was never her native language), the distance, and the ever-present Chinese quality of formality. But I went back to Hong Kong earlier this year, for my 30th birthday, to see her for the last time. We all knew it was the last time, but in my culture, you never say so directly. I remember going to her bedside, seeing the tube come out of her abdomen, seeing that she was too exhausted trying to breathe that she couldn't even open her eyes, and just sensing an all-pervading tiredness emanating from her body. This was about the same time as the Terry Schiavo case, but we all compartmentalized. I held her hand, and I felt a gentle squeeze. She knew I was there. Generations separated us, but family blood still connects.

Grandpa never left her side. I remember whispering in Grandma's ear as she lay there, that I wanted to find a man as good as her husband. Grandma and Grandpa were never apart. They raised the family together, they ran the business together. He was warm, caring and devoted, but above all, loving beyond fault. As the sun streamed in through the sliding door in their bedroom, Grandpa leaned over to kiss his almost comatose wife on the forehead. It was a touching moment that would bring tears to the eyes of any bystander. They were both in their late 80s, and to see such a demostration of love, especially in a Chinese family, is deeply moving. Then out of left field, my grandmother's arm comes flying off the bedspread to smack Grandpa playfully upside his head. The barest hint of a smile kissed her lips. Grandpa laughs and grabs her hand, and I can't help but laugh and cry at the same time. I am so thankful that this is the last memory of my grandmother.

Bye, grandma.