My Popo was out of the ICU, spent a few days in a normal hospital room, and cried from night to day that she wanted to go back home. Now she is finally resting at home, looking paler by the hour. She doesn't eat much anymore and would sleep through the days and nights. She knew she would be going soon and insisted on going back home. I can only pray that her mind doesn't go to the idea of seeing me in person and waiting for me to come.
I have run through all the possibilities of going back to see her for the last time. Each time, after I escaped the horror maze in my mind, I forced myself to calm down and told myself it was not safe for my kids, their future would be at huge risk if anything went wrong with me. Then the constant feeling of guilt would surge and eat away all of my brain.
I bury myself in nonstop cleaning, packing, and unpacking since we are doing house remodeling right now. I have been sick nonstop from stomach flu to stomach ache to normal flu to just being sick because of fatigue. I fell into a strong sense of unfulfillment, imagining myself on my own deathbed without finishing writing my sci-fi novels, after watching "Dune 2". "I have forgotten that part already! You remember it, you know it, I told you all about the ideas. Aren't they beautiful? It's how my mind works, how I'm fixated on the imaginary world, and writing them up could be my destiny. How could you stand on the side and allow me to be chipped away little by little but never get closer to realizing my dreams? Couldn't you see it? I have absolutely no time to write anything, I'm all used up by everybody while you get all the freedom to open your companies, one after another!" I shouted at Raj.
I feel scared for my parents, and I try to force my mind away from this topic for now. But when the day comes that my parents are on their deathbeds, where will they be and where will I be?
When my Popo was in the normal hospital room while her mouth was not hooked to pipes, she had been wailing repetitively "Pity me, little girl, pity me, little girl!" "My husband died so young, my husband died so young! Pity me!" These words echoed in my mind and every time it brought me to instant sadness because it reminded me of my Gonggong.
Sixth day into the new year of 1999 (February 21st, 1999), the coldest winter in my whole childhood, I saw my Gonggong go, only 62 years old. He didn't get to see me grow up, didn't get to see me admitted into a great university, didn't get to see me travel abroad, didn't get to see me marry and have beautiful babies. I still cry nonstop when I miss my grandpa, even after 25 years.
When my dad was away for a few years pursuing a medical degree in a different province, my grandparents helped their daughter, my mom, to raise me. I was 5 years old. My grandpa was the kindest person you would ever meet in your lifetime. He was kind to people around him and he was kind to animals and nature too. He actually believed in the ideology of communism and he fought equality for all. He was some official figure in the forest department but he was clean, clean as the melted snowy water from high mountains. He wouldn't take even one cent that didn't belong to him, and he taught me all of that when he was acting as my father. He planted many trees and he wished the trees to grow big and strong so the land would be green forever. He often took me to the top of his department building and watched distant trains and mountains with me. He also liked to take me for long walks in the forest where he showed me the trees he planted with his loving hands.
My Gonggong had a tough childhood too, like my Popo, like all of the Chinese at that time. Elite families have been wiped out, and only peasants and factory workers are left to build up the new communist China. Popo told me the story of when Gonggong was a teen and accepted as an apprentice at a tailor's house. One winter day when he was washing the master's shoes in the freezing river, his hands were in sharp pain as well as numb so he lost one shoe to the river flow, he was later beaten up badly and starved for two whole days. And that was just one episode of countless episodes of his teen years.
My Popo's life was not any better, when she was young she was forced to move around because of wars. She speaks multiple languages/dialects in Guangdong, Guangxi, Jiangxi, and Fujian. Whilst my Gonggong still had some family photos taken, my Popo had nothing. She worked in a construction site kind of place when she was a teen, digging stones and carrying the baskets of stones from one place to another. Each basket 40, 50 pounds, from morning to night. When I was born, she worked in a national-owned cement factory, carrying materials for a decade, and then packaging till she retired. Popo always sighed, "Your Gonggong is too clean, not corrupted at all, he can't even use any official relationship to get me out of hard labor work!"
But my Gonggong was kind, he was polite, he was gentle and he was patient. My Popo had a bad temper, was easily angry, and would shout with a loud voice. My Gonggong never raised his voice on my Popo, but never-ending understanding and support. I have seen my parents fight like cats and dogs, throwing furniture at each other, and I have seen my mom and Popo fight, slamming doors and gates, but I have never seen my Gonggong argue with anyone. He always spoke to me in loving and soft tones.
When I was young I had a huge forehead sticking out. People right away noticed it and would naturally laugh at it, "Looking like 'Old Man of the South Pole'!" Who is one of our deities. My Gonggong was actually the most fierce protector of me from such nonsense, "My Momo is beautiful, stop laughing at her! She is beautiful now and she will be even more beautiful when she grows up! Plus who said girls need to be pretty? My Momo has a big brain, she is smart and kind, and that's all that matters!" That's how my Popo also joined the team. If my Gonggong was still alive, I know he wouldn't allow the family to kill and eat the dog I loved, he would stop them all and rescue my Stinky Egg!
My dad came to my grandparents' little town when he was young, a drifter too. My grandparents proudly accepted him as a "come to house" son-in-law who usually is looked down upon by society. They loved him like their own, and they loved me as their favorite thing in the world.
My grandpa had chronic high blood pressure. He had strokes years before and was half-body paralyzed. Then on the sixth lunar new year day in 1999, surging blood pressure led to one of his brain vessels exploding and that was it. Blood clots were suppressing most of his brain. I came back from school to my Gonggong lying in bed completely paralyzed. "He had been unconscious." Family told me. I got close to his face, and I called out "Gonggong! Gonggong!" He opened his eyes and looked at me, his face started to tremble and tears gushed out of his eyes, dripping down on the pillow. Within a day after our last meeting, my Gonggong was gone.
Many years later I had a similar meeting with Raj's paternal grandpa on his deathbed, I was mature and open enough by then to know that he would come back to me as my child. I gave my child his name. My child also has a middle name, that is my Gonggong's given name: Fire-Dragon. But I don't know where is my Gonggong now. I don't think he would have left the human world since we are bonded too strongly. He must be somewhere, still loving and watching me.
Now it's almost time for my Popo to go, and I just couldn't stop missing both of them. They gave me life, raised me up, taught me to be kind, and made me strong. I sadly watched my Gonggong go when I was so young, and I'm not able to accompany my Popo for her last journey with us. But I really want them both to know that I love them so much and I miss them all the time. I want them to know that their loving memories will always be fresh in my mind as long as I breathe. And I know that they will know. They know.
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