021. Losing My 婆婆 (Maternal Grandma)
As a child of immigrants, I'm grieving that my grief process looks different than how I wish it would, and wishing I had known more of my grandma.
I’m not sure how to write this, only that I need to—because writing has always been my form of therapy. If I write, then maybe the grief will start to make more sense and somehow the order restored as I let the words come. So if the writing is unpolished and the information flow is incomplete or clunky, it’s because I’m literally doing it on the fly and I’m writing this late at night.
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Almost two weeks ago, I found out the news that my grandmother had passed—my 婆婆，my maternal grandma. This picture above might be one of the very few that I have in my phone. It may have been the last one I ever took with her in Taiwan, almost 8 years ago, when my husband met her for the first and (now) last time.
The news came by text on a Friday afternoon, right as I got off work. A group text within my family, from my dad. I immediately called my mother to check in on her.
My mom seemed calmer than I expected—maybe because she had known it was coming eventually. When my mom visited Taiwan only several months ago, she had reported that my grandma was not able to recognize many faces or understand much of her surroundings. So this news to my mom actually seemed merciful, like my grandma could finally be at peace and not so lost or confused or trapped in her own mind. I’m sure it also hurt to seem unknown to your own mother.
But what stood out to me most from this exchange was the fact that my mom said, “I wonder where we will be when we pass. It will be nice to be close to you guys (me and my sister)…we’ll see.”
Our conversation was not long. My daughter came home from school shortly after, barreling in in a cloud of inconsolable physical pain. You may have seen some updates on my social media, but without going into detail, I’ll just say we’ve been battling an ailment that involved trying to manage pain control for her since that same day that I learned of my grandma’s passing. It’s finally started to improve this week.
So basically, I’ve been a wreck over my daughter’s health, and my coping mechanism was to compartmentalize my grandma’s passing to process another day. I guess that day is today, which is fitting since her funeral in Taiwan is about to happen in the next few hours as I type this and will likely have happened by the time this is published…
My mom’s words have been haunting me, though, and I’ve been turning them around and around in my head.
You see, my parents planned to move back to Taiwan to live out the rest of their retirement, with trips back and forth to the States. I do hear of many Taiwanese immigrants going back and forth a lot in retirement and getting dual citizenship, though I know eventually these trips will slow down as they age.
But when my mom mentioned not knowing where they would eventually rest…I guess I had just assumed they wanted to be in their homeland since they were going to move back. When she said that though, it seemed like it wasn’t decided yet.
This is significant to me because one of the first things a friend said to me when I mentioned my parents were moving back at some time was to point out that it will be really hard when they pass because I have to jump on a plane immediately and they’re so far away. I know this comment had no ill-will, but it’s also stuck with me awhile, because it’s uncomfortably true. It’s exactly what my mother did.
And yet, what if they choose to rest here…? Is that still on the table? I guess it’s one of those things that I don’t want to have to think about until I have to cross that bridge…and it’s so hard to think about losing your parents.
Like losing my grandma. It’s weird, but for the first time ever, I imagined what it was like when my mom was my daughter’s age right now (5). Did she cling to her mom? Did she hug her and find comfort in her when she was scared or sad? Did my grandma ever say “I love you”? I had never thought to ask. I didn’t know much about my grandma, if I were to tell the truth.
And I think that’s where the real grief lies for me. I know I’m supposed to be sad (and I am), but it’s a different form of sadness because I never had a chance to grow up with my grandparents. I know grief doesn’t have to look one way or another, but I almost wish I were able to grieve deeper. Is that weird to say? Maybe not; I just really wish I had known my grandma more.
Thinking about my mom as a vulnerable little girl and then projecting that image forward to myself and further to my daughter down the road led me to cry for the first time, especially thinking about how this past week, all my daughter wanted was to be held and comforted through her pain.
And how did it feel for my mom to drop everything and fly back at the news? I’m almost afraid to ask this because what if it gives me a peek into my own future? That is a whole different level of grief I don’t even want to touch... The ironic thing that I won’t go into detail here is that my daughter has been asking me about death lately, and that has also been interesting.
I did just tell her about my grandma passing in the past few days because she asked a related question. I didn’t sugar coat it, and she took it just fine. The first thing she did was hug me and ask, “Are you sad? Is grandma (hers) sad?” before patting my arms sympathetically and holding me tighter.
As few times as I got to spend with her, what I do know and remember is this—
My grandma’s Chinese name means “Pearl of the Field,” which was probably apt back in the day for farmers. I find it kind of sweet that my “trademark” with “pearls” can connect back to my grandma’s name too.
Her highest level of education was up til grade school, but she successfully raised four children and had many grandkids. She had a thick Taiwanese accent when she spoke Mandarin and my mom always laughs about the fact that my grandma’s pronunciation of the sound of “f” (ㄈ) always sounds like the sound of “h” (ㄏ), which makes for some funny Chinese word swaps.
One time, we took a family trip with my cousins and my grandparents to the East Coast and the family went to visit Niagara Falls. I was probably around 8 or 9 at the time and not enthused about the idea of getting on a boat that would get close to the falls—considering I didn’t know how to swim yet and had a fear of water at the time. So my grandma and grandpa babysat me and my sister on the side of the Falls while the rest of the family hopped on a tour boat and donned their clear blue ponchos and left us for an hour or so. I don’t remember much about that time except that my sister and I were pretty bored…ha! But in retrospect, I’m glad this is one moment I can look back and say I shared Niagara Falls with my grandma and grandpa.
My grandma was funny, light-hearted, and joyous. She loved sneaking sweets and treats, even though she developed diabetes in her later years. On my last visit to see her, I was finally a practicing clinical pharmacist, and I had tried to explain her medications to her. It was very humbling trying to explain medicine in Chinese.
She had hosted me and my husband for a night the last time I was in Taiwan and taken us out to eat (pictured at the beginning). I had to caution her on all the carbs she wanted to sneak! My husband also still raves about the black pepper buns for breakfast right downstairs from where she lived (it’s my favorite too!), but he and I are both still traumatized from the mosquito bloodbath that night in her apartment.
And with that, I am reminded that we just missed out on seeing her again and letting my daughter meet her great grandmother. We already had plans to visit Taiwan next year, taking my daughter on her first international trip. But sadly, the meeting wasn’t meant to be.
Grandma, I’m sorry we missed you. And I will miss your presence and hearing your hearty laughter along with the lilt of your Taiwanese speaking; I will always think of you when I think of Taiwan. I love you, and this is just a temporary goodbye for now. Hoping your mind is free now and that you’re feeling peace.
I will definitely be introducing my daughter to those famous black pepper buns by your house, though. And one day, maybe I’ll take her to Niagara Falls and finally hop on that tour boat. It would be kind of cool to bring along my parents and sister again, too… you and Grandpa can be with us in spirit as well. Until we meet again. <3
As always, your writing is beautiful... You so clearly express deep-felt ponderings. When we lose a loved one, we often feel swept up in the river of time and the realization that someday we too will be gone. Who will remember us?