Squeeze Back, Grandma

In the dimness of the nightlight by my feet from the corner, I could see the shadows of my grandmother's face as she lay in bed. It cast an eerie yellow glow throughout the room. Her cheeks seemed hollow. I pictured her as a young woman with high cheekbones swept with apple blush. Her long black silky hair in a conservative bun. But her red lips displayed an intriguing playfulness. Oh how beautiful, she is, they would all say. Now her face was matte'ed with age and lines. The windburns of life experience creased deeply into her forehead. Her hair was thin and grey almost like dry rice sticks. She had been sleeping for quite some time now. Her eyes were closed and I longed to see through them. What do you see, grandma, what do you see?

I had been at the hospital everyday for the past week and the doctors said it would be soon until...

So, tonight, I would stay for her. Tonight I would stay.

The IV drip hung limply and the heart monitor jumped with a droning beep. I laid my head on the papery sheets and held her tiny hand. Everything about my grandmother was tiny, from her lively eyes that disappeared when she smiled to her size 4 feet.

For as long as I can remember, my grandmother and I had never had a real conversation. She spoke only Chinese and Vietnamese and I could only speak English fluently. Being born in America and my parents, who were always at work, didn't leave much room for language lessons. I could understand bits and pieces and maybe say a sentence or two in reply to her conversations, but for the most part, her words fell upon my ignorant ears. It's not that I didn't want to know my mother tongue, it’s just...well, my excuses could fill a basket (no time, laziness, capitalist America and its TV, or worst of all, apathy) and we'd still be left at square one.

So my relationship with her was one of blood. It was as if when we were together, we occupied some neutral space during war times where there was an underlying feel of something bigger around us, but we pretended like it was just made out of sand. You are my grandmother and I am your granddaughter. Nothing more, nothing less.

She would cook lovely foods for us though. Greasy chicken wings hot off the pan and rice was her usual. (Gosh, did grandma cook again? There's grease all over the kitchen floor. *sigh* This is the third time I've had to mop this week...) And then there were the green onion pancakes and red wine chicken for birthdays. Did I ever tell you how much I liked your cooking, grandma? Because I do. Maybe when we get out of here you can teach me all your recipes...

When she had gotten really sick two years ago, it was a family debacle trying to figure out where she would stay to recover. It was hard because everyone had their own lives and things going on. In times like these, people always seem to fall short of their familial responsibilities.

My oldest uncle had too many people in his house. "I have three families living in my home right now! There's just no room. I'm sorry."

My youngest uncle in Leander shook his head. "No, no, no, we're too far away from everyone else. She should be closer to you guys. It would be too risky to drive her all the way out here in the first place."

Cousin Quoc and Ming didn't want to take her either. "Ming just got married and since me and my wife both work, there wouldn't be anyone to take care of her during the day. That's not safe."

And my own parents also worked during the day and wouldn't have time. And with my little sister and baby brother still young, there would be too much going on for grandma to have a stable environment.

And so she was put into her own little apartment, centrally located between all her sons and relatives. They hired a nurse to look after her. And we could all visit her at our own convenience...

She wasn't improving and so they transferred her to a nursing home which I was always uncomfortable going to because it always felt like there was a thickness to the air. Made it hard for you to breathe. We would visit her on weekends. My siblings and I stood there smiling and nodding at my grandmother as she talked in Chinese to my parents. It was like we were deaf children waiting for someone to give us some sign of what was going on.

I would imagine what they were saying--

Grandma: Oh really? The little one has teeth now? Oh that's great. Is he talking yet?

Parents: Oh yea they grow up so fast. Are you sure you're comfortable here? Is it too cold? We could get you another blanket.

Grandma: Oh it’s fine. I just wish there were more people to talk to. My room mate just watches the television. And it’s all trash, this American TV programming. They don't have one Chinese channel here. How rude. Where are Quoc and Ming? They were supposed to come yesterday.

Grandma: Are the kids hungry? I can't eat this American hospital food. What's this wiggly red block? Jel...jell....jello? Only in America....

And then the spell would be broken and my parents and I would wave and leave and I could breathe again.

And just recently they transferred her from the nursing home to the hospital...

Oh, grandma. I wondered if she had many stories and secrets she wished she could tell me throughout all these years. So many things to teach me. All the times I came home from school when I was young and she would be there eating bread and lotus seeds. She would make me a plate of food and we would sit in silence. All those hours of silence that could have been filled with stories!! Tell me about the time you first fell in love, grandma. Or tell me how it was like moving from China to Vietnam. Was learning the language hard? Tell me about it. Tell me how Dad was like when he was little. Was he bad? But nothing came from my lips except sincere smiles and empty hopes.

Do you hear my silent screams to know you, grandma? It runs through my veins and fills my bones, grandma. Can you feel how they shake through me and try to get to you..? My deepest regrets...the time lost between us.

I realized I had started crying. I held onto my grandma's small palm and hoped she could hear my thoughts, that maybe, just maybe, times of high emotion can transcend speech and just flow from one person to another.

I'm so sorry grandma. I'm so sorry I couldn't talk to you like I wanted to. I'm sorry I never tried harder to learn Chinese. It wasn't my intention. I wanted to know you. I wanted to learn how to cook from you. I'm sorry every time I didn't eat all the grains from my rice bowl or eat my chicken bones clean. I'm sorry I never was able to know how hard it was for you to come to America. I try to remember the bits and pieces I've picked up. (You were with Uncle Pak...and you were in a boat...so scared.....I can sort of remember...trying so hard...oh no...it's slipping away...) I'm so sorry I can't remember...so sorry for not paying attention. I'm so sorry every time I said mean things about you behind your back because I knew you didn't understand me. I'm sorry for all the resentment I held towards you because I couldn't go ride bikes or play with my friends because you wanted me to stay by your side. You were just worried about me, I know that now. I'm so sorry its' been so hard for you while you've been sick. But I hope you know we all love you. We all do. In our own way. But don't go yet, grandma, stay a bit longer...I promise I'll change. I'll learn. It's too soon...

And for a split second, I thought I felt my grandma squeeze back. But it was my imagination. I let go of her hand to wipe my tears away. I fell asleep on the chair beside her until morning.