할머니

할머니 - grandma

My grandmother passed away on January 7, 2009. She was a mother to two daughters and three sons -- one of them being my father. After my grandfather's death, she suffered from various heart problems and then Alzheimer's. We all, including her doctors thought her Alzheimer's was genetic. But we later found out after her death, that there was a blood clot somewhere, preventing blood from properly flowing throughout her body, especially to her brain. But there was nothing any of us could do at that point. We had all found out too late.

About two years after she began to suffer from Alzheimer's, she began to lose her ability to recognize people, including me and my brother. She was able to recognize some of my older cousins, and her own children but not me or my brother. Starting from then, my conversations with her became very short -- "Have you had dinner yet?" "Did you watch TV today?". I just checked to see that she was OK. And then, I became a college student, only visiting home on vacations if I didn't have plans to go away and then I traveled far away to Japan on JET.

After my mom woke me up at night to tell me the sad news that she passed away, tears wouldn't stop rolling down my face at the sad fact that I had just lost a family member. Then I began to remember how much I used to love listening to her stories. She was always good at telling stories and describing things. As a little girl, I'd often visit her home in Flushing and sleepover. She would always cook the dishes I loved to eat, and buy me all the treats that I wanted. She always spoiled me. But that night, I realized that I couldn't remember any of the stories she told me. All I could recall was: a tiger that could speak, an old man with a large 'hohk' that gave him the ability to sing (large piece of skin hanging off the bottom of his face... don't know if it actually exists in real life, or if there's an English word for it), and a poor 'namukun' (a man who works in the forest). I don't even remember if these characters were part of the same story or not.

I wonder if she would've remembered these stories even with her disease. These were stories she would repeat to me 5-10 times a day if I wanted her to. Even though she couldn't remember who I was, she may have remembered these stories. I should've asked.

My heart broke as I had to watch her be buried, where I wouldn't be reunited with her until my time came. And it hurt even more as I watched my father say good-bye to his mother, as he tried to hold back his tears in front of all of us. But now she is with our Father in heaven, where she is no longer sick -- no diseases or heartaches there. She can now do all the work He had waiting for her as she sings all the hymns she loved to sing and as He takes care of her in His warm arms.