At some point last year, I decided it would be a fun idea to send out a monthly thank you note. Identify someone in my life who I don’t regularly get the chance to speak with and send them a thank you. I can’t remember where I got the idea, but there are so many people who played an integral part in helping me become who I am today and life is too short to wait for a serendipitous rendezvous to express gratitude.
Ever since I started, I had May circled on my calendar because I knew exactly who I wanted to thank.
The day that I am writing this would have been grandma’s 98th birthday! She passed in 2019, but her selfless love and sacrifice will always be something that I remember and I just wanted to share a bit more about the wonderful person that she was.
I never managed to give her eulogy so I started writing this not exactly knowing where it would go. I’m sure it’ll be a long one, but thank you for being an audience.
So…here’s to grandma.
할머니,
Mom used to tell me stories about how you were so scary back in the day, but I always laughed because anyone who ever met you could only ever describe you as a gentle, quiet presence with a radiant smile.
But when I think back to your story, I can only imagine that any perceived fierceness was an armor that you carefully forged over the years to shield yourself from a tough life.
Basically a single parent of three daughter in post-war Korea couldn’t have been easy. But you managed to start up a restaurant and raise all of your kids. When they started having kids, you stepped in and help raise all of us. Mom was the first to have a son - I heard that you were quite excited.
You made the trek over the US to help raise me. The plan was only to have you here for a few years so that you could spend your golden years in Korea but that didn’t go according to plan. I even remember when you had your stroke - mom and dad looked so serious and I kept asking why I had to spend weekends at my cousin’s house. I kept asking about you, but they just kept saying that you were sick and wouldn’t give me any information.
But eventually you pulled through! I was so happy when you finally came back home and that’s when we jokingly started calling you whatever the Korean translation for those ‘inflatable clown inflatables’ is. No matter how dire the situation seemed, you always just popped right back up.
Mom and dad worked a lot so we spent a ton of time together. I remember in elementary school, we had a market in the gym where students could shop for Mother’s Day gifts. I asked mom to give me some extra cash so that I could also get you something. I’m sure mom was happy to hear that.
I will always associate my ‘thick-boned’ stature to you. I still remember our walks over to Kumon when I was a kid. I hated going there so much that you bribed me with pizza and Baskin Robbins on the way home. Mom used to give you a couple of bucks so that you could go out and buy whatever you needed but you always spent that on making me fat. I’m told that I was a small, scrawny child. No one believes me when I tell them this fact today.
I still remember the day when dad suddenly shook me away and told me to call 911. I looked at the clock - it was just past 6am on a Saturday. What the fuck was happening?
Apparently you had slipped and broken your hip.
I had never called 911 before in my life so I didn’t know what to do. I tried to stay calm and I’m sure you saw the fear on our faces as we kept walking in and out of your room. The ambulance came and took you away and I followed along right behind them. I can still remember how eerie the empty roads felt in Englewood.
But remember you’re the ‘inflatable clown punching bag’ thing (sorry, I wish there really was a more loving metaphor that we had used in hindsight…).
They often say that a broken hip for the elderly is a death knell. But not you.
You made it through rehab and charmed the PTs and nurses with your pleasant demeanor. I still remember one of the lead nurses walking into your room saying, “Bok Soon - exercise time!,” in her thick Jamaican accent.
Just when everything was going well, you gave us a scare when I got a call on my way home from work that you were back in the hospital. Apparently you fell into a coma and they were expecting the worst.
I was driving on 287 and you would have thought that I’d be filled with dread or worry. But oddly enough, I wasn’t. I just knew that you were going to be okay.
Exactly as I thought, just 24 hours later, I got a call saying that you had woken up so I sped over to check-in. You were in great spirits and we spoke for hours that day. Probably the longest we ever spoke.
It was so strange, your social capabilities slowly diminished over the years following the stroke but today you felt so alive. You told me stories that I never heard before and it was like seeing flashes of a younger version of you.
I read later that night that sometimes people have these random bouts of lucidity before they pass away. But once again, I just knew, not today.
It’s predictable at this point, but once again, you were fine. You went back to your long-term care unit and things were nice for a long time. Mom and dad visited you often, I tried to stop by on weekends and say hello. By now your mental capacity was really limited so we ended up having the same conversation over and over for about an hour each time. I was able to predict what I needed to say before you finished your sentence but I never minded.
I loved seeing you light up whenever I walked into the room and holding your leathery hand as your laughed melted away any sense of stress or worry that I might have had from the week prior.
But you know, when dad called me that August evening, I knew that something was different. You don’t know this but Grace and I actually got into a big fight that evening so I went outside for a long walk to clear my head. I must have missed dad’s calls but when I walked into the house and saw her face, I just knew that today was different.
We drove over to the hospital and I saw you lying there in your bed. There were a few machines that I had never seen before beeping around you. They said that you weren’t conscious but when I held your hand and whispered into your ear, I know that you knew it was me. I felt your hand twitch as you tried to caress my hand like you used to all the time.
I broke down and started crying that night for perhaps the first time in your presence. A night nurse was walking by and she rubbed my back and tried to comfort me, “She’ll be fine, you know. We all know how strong Bok Soon is” she said.
I smiled and nodded my head, but I knew that this time would be different.
I told you that evening everything that I wanted to tell you. I told you how much I loved you and how much of an impact you had on my life. I told you that I still remembered everything you had done for me since I was born into this world. I apologized for all the times I yelled at you and said something that I regretted. I told you that you were so strong, but that it was okay if it was time for you to finally get some rest.
Even those creepy inflatable things ultimately lose their bounce I guess.
Mom called me at 7:30am the next morning and I knew before I even picked up the phone. I heard the tears in her voice, but there was an odd sense of peace underneath everything. I still felt like I had been hit by a train and I remember auto-piloting through the day, but I remember praying a prayer of gratitude.
I knew that you were free from the pain. You were able to be freed from the mental and physical prison that sickness and old age put you in. I knew of your devout faith and it brought me joy knowing that you were finally in a much better place.
할머니, you were the constant rock of my life. You took care of me from diapers through school and even held on just long enough to see me through marriage and to meet my wife.
You taught me to be patient and what selfless love looked like. Even though you didn’t understand how the 21st century operated, you knew enough to tell me on my worse days that everything would be okay. Underneath your quiet demeanor, there was a sense of strength and determination that I always admired. You were joy epitomized.
There are pages and pages more of things I want to tell you, but as I think about the times where we just looked at each other and laughed deep laughs, I know that in those moments we shared more than any amount of words could ever convey.
I love you and I miss you. Until the day we meet face-to-face again.
Rest in power.
Have a good week ahead.