How you always loved having dinner with us, how your favorite place to eat was Evergreen.
How you'd always be so happy when we ate lots of fish and oysters and lamb chops.
How you looked when I visited you with grams and gramps, how you wanted us to stay longer. How I looked back at you and promised myself that I'd go visit you more often, that I'd try to go on walks with you, and even if you couldn't walk I told myself I could push you around in your wheelchair in the park. How I regret this never happened.
How you had told me not to be too anxious about missing a year of school. How you said comfortingly that it was okay. How you looked like you had wanted to say more.
How we got lost when I tried to drive you home, and I felt so bad, but then later you confessed that you actually hadn't known what directions you were giving me, and that you had made them up along the way...how you had laughed sheepishly when you told me this. A youthful laugh.
How your hands were never cold or hot -- always just mild. And so soft.
How you always carried around a small towel, not a handkerchief but a towel, to pat your forehead with.
How you told stories of your maid being too sassy and talking back.
How you were so proud of Wah Wah's drawing for you, how you had taped it up on your living room wall. How I realized then that I didn't even know your birthday. And you didn't know ours.
How you always looked at us with this curious happiness. You only ever wanted us to be there in front of you, to sit down and eat and pei nee for as long as we could.
It's not as if you knew everything about us; our relationship with you was more distant, less intimate than I'd wished for; sometimes I used to wonder who we were to you -- just another set of grandchildren amongst many? But in the later years I saw more and more that you truly wanted to be near us. You just didn't always know how, but you tried.
It's been a year now and I wish I could have seen you before you passed. Wish I could see you now to tell you that I do think about you and love you. I hurt now in a way that makes me sad. And even though I don't really understand it or know where it's coming from, or what to do with it, I know that it's better to celebrate your life.
I miss you, Grandma.
