Grandma Ho

It has become increasingly clear to me that the lifeblood of our lives is composed of stories. When all is said and done, we are largely defined and remembered not by our wealth, accomplishments or feats of greatness, but in the stories shared by those we love.

So what stories define my dear Grandma?

To be honest, most of the stories I have of Grandma are framed in black and white, passed on from my mother, uncles and aunties. These stories talk of life in the 60’s, when life was harsh and unrelenting. They resonate with me more because I was too young to remember much of grandma in my own memory, having left for Canada at too young an age. Much of what I do remember revolves around vacations when Grandma would visit, and me being naughty while she was ever-so-patient. The Grandma I knew never spoke of the past, never brought up the hardships, and never complained about the difficulties she had endured.

The last three years of being in Hong Kong has given me new appreciation to Grandma’s life. She is the most long-suffering woman I know. She has endured so much and had the kindest heart to keep giving of herself. She sacrificed everything for her children without demanding anything in return.

Last mother’s day after eating at a restaurant at Tin Hau, mom asked us to walk with her to the North Point Ferry Pier. She explained that many years ago, she would regularly take the same route with Grandma to deliver food to Grandpa’s clothing business. The two of them would often take the long lonely journey back home to Sham Shui Po together. As they traced their way back in the dark emptying streets, their hearts would often be filled with sorrow and grief at the seemingly injustice of life.

That night, as dad, Michelle and I followed mom on her journey into the past, I couldn’t help but see the story come to life. I saw the shadows of mother and daughter cast ruefully on the faded buildings. I watched them meander silently through the crooked alleyways towards the dock that would shuttle them across the harbour. No words. Just two silent silhouettes. 

For me, this story encapsulates Grandma: she loved fully without condition. In a culture where value is placed on the fleeting emotion of romance, she loved based on principle. She loved an undeserving husband, a brood of children often too young to understand, and loved at her own expense. Grandma fought tooth and nail to give her children and grandchildren the best she could afford even when it cost her much suffering. She is the embodiment of love that gives, and even to her last days, she hung on to make sure everything was right with her children.

I do not know a more stalwart woman, who despite her tiny frame possessed so much courage and determination to live and press on. May we all take a page from her life and live with the same gumption and conviction. Rest well in heaven, Grandma - real life has just begun!