Ba’s funeral is today. It’s weird to write / say words like that. Somehow I am suddenly looking at myself when I was a little girl and I am speaking the unimaginable to her.
“What do you mean, 'Ba’s funeral?' Ba died? Ba can die?” she says. Her eyes are in shock and her little heart is torn in two. The look on her face is the same as when she was six years old and Ba left that file cabinet lying in the walkway in the garage. Grandma did not see it and tripped over it, cutting her leg badly on one of the sharp metal edges. There was so much blood. It was a thing a six year old should never see happen to a beloved. It was the worst thing she’d ever seen in her life and it terrified her. Ba dying is not a thing that should ever happen. That thing was far in the future and only happened to other unknown people, not Ba.
Now Ba and Grandma are both gone. It’s a day that I’ve dreaded, but never really thought would happen. I’m in a mirror dimension staring back at myself on …
I found this post that I wrote in October 2017. I guess I never published it...
October 29, 2017
I’ve seen articles and even had friends tell me that facebook either depresses them or causes anxiety. They see all the people in their social circles having fun, traveling, succeeding. Everyone has perfect lives. I started thinking about the picture that I posted of me and my grandfather and all the reactions I was getting to it, and how it made me feel like a better person.
Maybe you saw it. Maybe it made you feel good to know that someone was taking care of her older relative and you smiled. Maybe you even “liked" it.
Most times when I am with my grandfather now, I’ve given up trying to get him to tell me stories about the past. He might remember, but most likely, he won’t.
But the day I took him to San Andreas Trail, he couldn’t even hear me or understand what I was saying. For the most part it was fine. He just talked and talked about whatever was on his mind, whatever th…
When I went with my grandfather and my parents to visit my grandmother in rehab on May 3rd, I brought a drawing pad for him and some watercolor crayons. He used to always draw with me and was a wonderful artist. He sat at the edge of her bed and I sat in a chair next to him.
I asked him to draw something and he just looked at me confused.
"I don't know what to draw," he said.
"How about... a dog?" I asked.
He took the pad and stared at it for a while, the crayon in his hand.
"I can't," he said. "You were always the artist."
What? He had to be kidding. My grandfather used to be able to draw and make anything and everything. I remembered one time, he carved a beautiful Chinese New Year lion out of a bar of soap for a school project where I was supposed to carve something. Now he couldn't even draw a dog?
He handed the pad and crayon back to me shaking his head. I sighed and just started sketching some orchids that were in the r…