When Lau Lau came to visit us in Richmond 1996, I gave Lau Lau my room and I slept in Nathan’s room. She was completely different from my other grandma. I would sneak up to my bedroom and push my face against the frame to watch her through the slim crack in the door. I’d watch her do mysterious, graceful exercises every morning. At first, I thought it was a strange Buddhist ritual, but later learned it was only tai chi. She mostly kept to herself. During the day, I’d see her sitting on my bed playing Solitaire over and over. She looked so lonely. I finally got up my courage and timidly came in and sat next to her on the bed. She taught me how to play Solitaire and I was so happy that I’d found a way to connect to her.
I only saw her a few other times after that. But before I came to Korea, she got so excited. She wanted to give me a fur coat and all kinds of advice: don’t get involved with any North Korean men and to stay out of any political demonstrations. She wanted me to learn Chinese over there so we could talk. She wanted to tell me all about her life and about being Chinese. It tugged at my heart. Why hadn’t I tried harder? It was one of my life-goals, but the time never seemed right to learn.
About two months before I came to Korea, Lau Lau got sick. She broke her wrist and Mom wanted to go to her so badly, but she couldn’t because the timing didn’t work out. I went to Korea, knowing that I’d go to Hong Kong at some point.
In March, I learned that she was doing much worse. She hadn’t healed well from her injury back in October and had lost a lot of weight. She had advanced-stage lung cancer and it had spread to her bones. Mom got on the earliest flight to Hong Kong and got there at the beginning of April. Once in Hong Kong, Mom said Lau Lau was slowly doing better, so I decided to go at the end of April during my term break.
After I arrived in Hong Kong, I took the bus to Sheng Shui, the small town where Lau Lau lived. It’s the New Territories, almost in China. Mom met me at the bus stop. She told me that Lau Lau was doing better, but she had lost a lot of weight and was still very weak. Even though I knew this, nothing could prepare me for the shock of actually seeing her. I couldn’t recognize her at all. The tiny, stick-thin woman who greeted me with a tired voice looked nothing like the Lau Lau I had known, or rather, always wished I’d known better. However, her mind and will were still as strong as ever. Mom said that the doctors said she should have at least 6-8 more months.
That night, as I sat on the couch next to Lau Lau, she started talking to me.
“Soon….Lau Lau go bye-bye…” she said in mixed Chinese and English. She pointed at herself and made sleeping gestures with her hands. I understood her, but pretended I didn’t. I took her hand.
“I’m praying for you,” I forced myself to say. For some reason, speaking had become almost impossible.
Mom walked over, and Lau Lau started talking to her.
“Lau Lau wants to say goodbye. She wants you to take good care of yourself, you have a good future,” Mom translated.
I couldn’t keep the tears from spilling out.
“Lau Lau says you’re a good girl. She says not to cry.” Mom said and I managed to hold it back.
Those next few days felt like I’d hit the “pause” button on my life. Every day, I’d wake up, eat breakfast, get dressed and go walk around Sheng Shui with Mom. We’d look at clothes, or pick out food for lunch. After a couple hours, we go back home and cook lunch. Depending on how she felt, Lau Lau might join us. I’d take a nap while Mom talked to Lau Lau. Then, we go out again and repeat the process until dinner. Sometimes my aunt came home early enough for us to make dinner with her. Then, we’d all sit in front of the TV and watch Chinese game shows and dramas. Those few days in Hong Kong are so precious to me. When I came to Hong Kong before, I was always a tourist. Now I wasn’t a tourist, just Lau Lau’s granddaughter who had come to visit.
That Sabbath, my 24th birthday, Lau Lau decided to become a Christian. People from the local SDA church came over in the afternoon and anointed her. They prayed for her and sang with her. When they sang “God Will Take Care of You” in Chinese, Lau Lau looked so happy. I know that this was one of Mom’s greatest wishes come true.
In June, I got an e-mail from Mom saying that Lau Lau had passed away in the night. She had been in the hospital for a few days and was in a lot of pain. They gave her a lot of morphine and oxygen and it made her drift in and out of consciousness.
I learned one Chinese phrase this last time I was in Hong Kong. “Yet tsung geen” means approximately, “see you later.” It’s “good-bye,” but not for long. We’d tell that to Lau Lau whenever we went out shopping. After she passed away, I remembered that phrase. As a Christian, it expresses the greatest hope I have. This isn’t good-bye forever. I’ll see her again, in a world where there is no more sickness or pain. Yet tsung geen, Lau Lau.
“Brothers and sisters, we do not want you to be uninformed about those who sleep in death, so that you do not grieve like the rest of mankind, who have no hope. For we believe that Jesus died and rose again, and so we believe that God will bring with Jesus those who have fallen asleep in Him.”
1 Thessalonians 4:13-14 NIV
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