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!
