On May 18, 2017, my beloved grandma passed away peacefully in her sleep, letting out her final breath just as the sun peeked over the horizon. After several weeks of traveling between her cozy NYC apartment and the ER, she persistently clung to life as she battled a bout of sepsis and pneumonia that left her lungs weakened and filled with fluid. My family and I were constantly bombarded with calls from doctors across multiple medical fields, each faltering our hope of her surviving, but nonetheless, miracles were possible.
On May 16, a doctor explained her critical state and mentioned that her heart rate had fallen to 30 beats per minute. At that point, we took a deep breath, prepared for the worst and calmed our hearts; however, miraculously, she revived and her vital signs returned to normal until two days later when nature took its final course. She was 87 years old.
Living almost 900 miles away, I had a difficult time closely communicating with my grandmother. Although I visited her every summer, I never had a chance to thank her for her constant love, comfort and compassion. Thus, I dedicate this letter to her as a sincere note from my heart to hers.
Dear Grandma,
This is not a goodbye but a letter of appreciation for your generous and kindred spirit.
Thank you so much for everything you've done throughout your life. Even through the hardships with your sons and daughters, you pushed through your struggles and continued to serve and care for your children when they could no longer do the same for you. Never once did I hear you complain, whether it was about walking seven blocks to pay your apartment rent or simply hopping down five flights of stairs to the nearest trash can. You had a goal in mind, and you were not afraid to pursue it. "Jiā yóu!"
What touched me the most was that the last time I went to visit you during spring break, you were in obvious pain, always wheezing and rubbing your aching bones, yet you mustered up all your strength to walk downstairs and across streets and blocks to buy our family favorite NYC dim sum lunch — Shrimp Prawns, Shanghai Soup Dumplings and White Radish Cakes. And every day for the last year, you walked to the subway station on Canal St., streets away from your tiny apartment on your way to Riverside Rehabilitation, just to visit someone you loved. As an 86 year old, you even had the courage and strength to travel from first street to 87th street by yourself, and that is simply the magic of love.
Even though your sister had been unable to care for herself for over a decade, you continuously channeled your generosity to buy her Joe's famous pot stickers and noodle soup, sitting with her from sunup to sundown. This is truly an act of inspiration. Thank you.
Without you, I would have never had the chance to visit New York every summer, enjoy the city and its aesthetic vibes and create such a vibrant Instagram feed.
Without you, I would have never had the opportunity to exercise my rusty Cantonese skills and to stuff my suitcase full of guava juice cartons and hard candies.
Without you, my mom would have never had someone to talk on the phone without saying a word.
Without you, I would have never been able to call someone my "NYC granny."
I love you, and I'm ashamed that I was unable to become closer to you and learn more about your past. Our language barrier was a major setback, but just seeing you try to fill my dinner bowl to the brim with a mountain of food was enough for me. Your smile was adequate to say that you loved me too.
I'll see you in maybe another 70-ish years, but regardless, I hope that you know that your image and soul are placed in our hearts forever — a part of us that will never be forgotten through oceans deep and mountains high. Rest in peace.