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Juliane Huang — Thu, 20 May 2010 16:00:20 +0000

“I am flying back to Taiwan tomorrow afternoon. Uncle told me that Grandpa is not doing good and the doctor now gives him around 1-2 weeks to live. Although we had known it coming for two years, it is still hard to take it. I am sad.”

…

I open up my email searching for something else when I find the message from my mother. I read it once quickly, then close the window.

I feel suddenly that my understanding of the world has greatly shifted. All that I have gingerly and painstakingly procured is flaking apart, with no solid base underneath.

Last August:

I called Taiwan last night to speak to my grandfather.

“Everything’s great!” he says. “Tell me if you need money! I will give it to you!” I feel like his laugh is a little too loud. “You are welcome here, anytime you want to visit!” he nearly shouts into the receiver.

When my mom gets on the phone, I ask how he’s doing. I say he sounds pretty good.

“Of course he sounds good over the phone. He always does that.”

“At least he has the energy to pretend.”

The prognosis is end of November. I tell my mom I will be back in October.

“Yes,” she agrees. “It’s a good idea to come back while he can still enjoy your company.”

When I was living in Taiwan, I would visit him on the weekends. He liked having his grandchildren around, and would hand over his favorite recliner and the TV remote for the days I stayed. For my 24th birthday, I traveled to Szechuan and forgot to tell him. He was in a panic trying to find me to wish me a happy birthday. I had to apologize when I got back; he wasn’t very happy with me.

Last week:

“I know it sounds ridiculous,” I say as I book my ticket, “but I feel like he’ll be really mad if I don’t fly back for his funeral.”

This week:

A large and intermittent sadness sits heavily on top of my chest. I rub my sternum miserably. I miss him.

Juliane Huang » family

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