The most singular and noteworthy love story of my life was with my grandpa. We had a 70-year age difference, and he lived halfway around the world. The times we visited each other can be counted on two hands, and we communicated in Chinese, a language neither of us was fluent in. Our unusual relationship grew through three phases.
Phase #1: Words
My earliest memory of Grandpa is him reading a storybook to me. In the book, there were two old men, one who was tall and skinny, and another who was short and round. My grandpa looked like the short and round one. Even at a young age, I thought my grandpa was really cute.
Every grandfather adores his son's firstborn, but a spark was lit between my grandpa and me when I started walking/talking and showing my personality. I can't verify this, but he insists I had a uniquely refined way of speaking that made me seem like a tiny adult.
Once I learned how to talk, my dad encouraged me to call my grandparents (his parents) regularly. They lived in Taiwan and took the 14-hour flight to visit us once in a while, but our interactions existed primarily over the phone. Every Friday night, my dad would chat with them, and afterwards would be my turn.
For some reason, I spoke mainly with my grandpa. We learned to converse, despite the language barrier. We latched onto the few topics we were able to discuss--weather, traveling, food. My Chinese ability/vocabulary will forever be built around our conversations. As I grew older, Grandpa shared stories from his past and current events he watched on the news. Sometimes he took notes throughout the week of things he wanted to tell me, and read them to me when we talked (so cute!).
Home videos show my grandpa as a quiet man, juxtaposed with my talkative and excitable grandma. The few times he spoke were inquiries/opinions about food. However, when it was just him and me, he transformed into a chatterbox. "I don't like talking to people," he would say, "but when I'm with you, I can't stop talking!" Then he would laugh and say it's because he likes me the most.
Phase #2: Actions
When I went to college, I asked my dad if I could call Grandpa on my own. From then on, the 22 digits I dialed to reach Grandpa's home phone in Taiwan became engrained in my memory as I punched them into my cell phone every Friday night at 10pm. (I still remember them: 011886227983-8689534034.)
10pm on a Friday is one of the least available times for college students, but somehow we did it. I swear we never missed a single week. I recall momentarily slipping out of friends' houses, dates, or recital receptions to call him. Even when I traveled for summer camps or tours, we found a way. Knowing that he was faithfully waiting for me was what drove me to call him every time. It helped that he never talked for more than 5 minutes, insisting I had better things to do. The few times I managed to extend the conversation past 5 minutes were proud moments.
During my junior year of college, my grandpa and I discovered Skype. The first time we video-chatted, he was so excited that he completely forgot himself--we talked for 45 whole minutes, most of which were spent looking/waving at each other and laughing. We were like giddy teenagers. He couldn't believe that he could see me, and kept saying that when he was my age, communication overseas meant writing letters and waiting months for a reply.
DSO streams classical subscription concerts online, and for the first few weeks of my job, a smattering of family and friends tuned in to watch me. After a while, my grandpa was the only one left, loyally and punctually tuning in to EVERY webcast without fail, watching from beginning to end. Often, these webcasts started at 3am or ended at 12:45am his time. He said it was no big deal, because he didn't have other plans. But to adjust his daily routine (particularly his sleep schedule) so often must have been a huge endeavor. His dedication inspired me to call him more often, so we started talking a few times a week, rather than only on Fridays.
Phase #3: History
When I was a toddler, I loved to pretend I was driving Grandpa to San Francisco in my toy car. This cute game became a reality when I actually drove him to San Francisco after getting my driver's license, during his last trip to California.
My grandpa spent his later years indoors, despite his love for hiking. I don't think he ever left the house after age 95. But I visited Taiwan during some of his last ventures outside--we climbed a mountain on a family trip, with him leading the way and barely breaking a sweat; I sat with him on the train and walked the streets of Taipei with his hand on my arm.
Last year when I got engaged, my grandpa was the first one I told. His reaction was so funny--I said in Chinese, "Grandpa, I'm engaged!" and he replied uncertainly, "Jennifer, do you know what that word means? Are you sure you're using it correctly?" After assuring him that yes, I know the word "engaged" in Chinese means "getting married," he was overjoyed and started offering congratulatory gifts, like his house in Taoyuan and/or a gold brick he'd been saving.
The last time I saw him in person was last November when he met my husband Will. Subsequently, Will joined our weekly Skype sessions, and my grandpa's eyes lit up whenever Will appeared on the screen, joyously exclaiming, "William!" One time, Grandpa was super energetic from having accidentally overslept. He talked nonstop for 45 minutes straight, and we barely got a word in as he recounted story after story from his past. I'd never seen him so hyper, especially with his calm and humbly reticent nature.
The final time I saw him over Skype was in California with my family. Grandpa gave us the usual advice--health is #1, love your family, love your kids, read good books, make good friends. Don't be angry about the little things. He knew it was my mom's birthday, and noticing our surprise at his good memory, informed us (almost indignantly) that he remembered all of our birthdays. I told him Will's birthday, and he promised to commit it to memory from then on.
A few weeks ago, Grandpa fell when he was alone at home. After that, he was unable to walk unassisted or to live independently. My dad rushed back to Taiwan to help my aunt care for him, arriving at my grandpa's house at 5:25am. Exactly a week later to the exact hour, my grandpa passed away, 7 months shy of his 100th birthday.
During his last week, Grandpa refused to eat. After a few days consuming only water, Grandpa woke in the middle of the night and asked my dad, "Why am I still here? Can we go to the doctor?" My grandpa had never seen a doctor in his entire life, therefore he had no medical records. The doctor asked, "Any history of disease?" No. "Any allergies to medication?" No idea. My grandpa had never even had a dentist appointment.
Learning the details of my grandpa's passing, I discovered two things: 1) My grandpa planned his death. He had his insurance card ready, despite never having used it. He must have researched the most peaceful, natural, and efficient way to go (not eating). Ironically, his plans were foiled because he was too healthy, and his body held on longer than expected. 2) My grandpa didn't plan for his own benefit; he planned for everyone else's. He decided it was time as soon as he became dependent on others' care. He waited for my dad's arrival in Taiwan before refusing food. He visited the doctor even though he hates hospitals, so that my dad and aunt could have the information to expect his death. He gave us a week to prepare.
During that week, I imagined flying to Taiwan to see him. My mom told me, if there's something you want to say to Grandpa, now is the time. I realized I didn't feel urgency/necessity to say or do anything. I certainly wanted to--more than anything, I wished to see or talk to him again. But our relationship had evolved to a point where neither words nor actions were particularly significant anymore...our history had taken over. Everything we'd established and committed to each other over 29 years spoke louder than any words or actions.
From Michigan, I recorded daily videos for Grandpa, in which I talked as if we were Skyping. My dad said Grandpa watched the first video, listening intently from beginning to end with a focus and emotion that was "unusual." I don't think Grandpa was able to watch the other videos, which is perfectly okay. Like I said, there was nothing left to prove.
My grandpa is the person I am proudest of and the person I brag about the most. The reverse was definitely true--anyone who talked to my grandpa during his later years heard about "Jennifer, the best granddaughter."
Grandpa, I miss you SO much already. I miss waving to your smiling face, and I miss your surprise and delight every time I called, even if it was the thousandth time. (27 years of phone calls x 52 weeks a year=1404 phone calls, at least.) I miss your happy chuckle and your jokes that only you understood. I miss the sound of the alarm on my phone, reminding me it was time for us to talk. I miss the green dot next to your name on Skype. I miss the meals and desserts you cooked for me when I visited. I miss playing concerts, knowing you are proudly watching 7000 miles away. You are my hero, and I'm so happy that you're finally enjoying the peace you strove for your entire life.
We loved each other so much. How lucky we were to have each other.
