My Grandfather's Passing
My Grandfather’s Passing
Kaelyn Tam
8th grade Writer’s Workshop
Each time we went to Hong Kong, the long flight was always worth it. We got to see my Aunt Betty, Aunt Connie, and occasionally my Aunt Donna (all on my mother’s side). Aunt Betty was the storyteller, her mind always spinning and coming up with imaginative stories that fascinated me. Aunt Connie enjoyed sports (hockey in particular). One of her sons named Ryan was a jockey, and when I was younger, he would often take me to see the horses he took care of. Lastly, Aunt Donna was a businesswoman. She was in charge of the entire Swarovski department in Asia until her retirement in 2018 to take care of her newborn son. Hong Kong also meant seeing my two cousins on my father’s side, Danielle and Enoch. We got along well and would often go to arcades, get ice cream at Haagen Dazs, and do many more fun things. Danielle was about a year younger, and Enoch was a few months older than me.
We went through the baggage claim and finally saw a glimpse of my Aunt Betty. She had made an extra effort to wake up early and pick us up exactly on time at six. My heart beat faster and faster and I fled to her open arms. Shaelyn stumbled after me. She embraced us, and it was very comforting to see her again. We drove to our usual stop afterwards, the Chinese bakery. They had a variety of pineapple buns, ham and egg buns, and more, all great for the next day’s breakfast. Then we went to Aunt Betty’s house to drop our stuff off.
Aunt Betty’s ShaTin house is small and cozy, with two bathrooms and three bedrooms. I saw the same kitchen door that still stood firmly in the doorway, where my sister had broken her nail in the crack last time we came. I could smell the familiar scent of my grandfather, wafting from his room: a bit of oils mixed with medicine and laundry detergent. I glanced around and saw that almost nothing had changed.
We pushed all our stuff up the mini ramp before the doorway Aunt Betty had created for my grandfather and his wheelchair, and I greeted Aunt Betty’s maid. Her name was Win and she was from Indonesia. She had taken care of my grandfather for more than a decade, and had watched his health decay.
We spent happy days there, seeing my grandfather in his room, going to visit Danielle and Enoch, and taking occasional walks with my grandfather by the nearby river. We went to the arcade and spent a few hundred Hong Kong dollars (which is not a lot in USD). We got lots of stuffed animals, candy, and other prizes. All of us went shopping in the elaborate malls, and I felt that we were all united as a family. Everything seemed like all fun and games until Aunt Betty announced that my grandfather had to go to the hospital.
I already knew that Aunt Betty measured my grandfather’s blood pressure at least two times a day.
“There’s something wrong with his blood pressure,” Aunt Betty said nervously to my mother. They both had lowered voices, seated at the dining table with wooden hand-carvings, speaking in Cantonese.
“What is it?” my mother asked. She saw me look over from my homework and her voice instantly dropped to a quiet whisper. Fearing that I was hearing something I shouldn’t have, I quickly turned back around, but still kept my ears tuned-in on there conversation.
“I have to take him to the hospital. This isn’t safe for him,” a sliver of fright and worriedness lined my aunt’s voice. Hearing her concerned made my heart beat faster and I instantly thought of the negative possibilities. Would he need to stay in the hospital for more than a few nights? Would he never come home? Would I never see him again?
“Okay,” my mother breathed out slowly. “What can I do?”
My aunt declared, “Start getting his clothes, shoes, and open his wheelchair.” She spoke, not in a full volume, but with authority. The wheelchair sat compressed, propped against the wall. I jumped up to assist my mother, while Aunt Betty gently woke my grandfather. He stirred a little, and it was a long while before we were able to load him into the wheelchair. My grandfather had a few hospital visits before this, and it had always been fine.
When we got to the hospital, my mother, my sister, and I were all instructed to wait in the car. I was slightly scared but mostly in suspense because I could feel the tension in the car. My aunt got to a loading zone and wheeled my grandfather out of the car. My sister and I watched with wide eyes, hearts beating. As his visits to the physical therapist and doctor had become frequent, my aunt had sold her car and bought a new one with a large back and cables special for loading in a wheelchair.
Aunt Betty and Win entered the hospital with my grandfather. We waited impatiently in the car, hoping for a sign of his results. I distracted myself by doodling on some old receipts, suppressing the fear that he might not come out safely. My mother texted all of her sisters, notifying them on what was happening. She continued to give updates as the moments passed.
Aunt Betty came back down around fifteen minutes later. “You guys should go home. He’s fine. The doctors are treating him,” she said. I was a little shocked. Didn’t she want us to stay for moral support? Were we in the way? Barely saying anything, she moved the car to the parking lot and gave us bus tickets. We took the bus back to ShaTin and received several briefings from my aunt and Win through texts and calls. My grandfather was to be let out of the hospital in the late evening.
When he came back that night, Aunt Betty was exhausted. We tried not to make a big thing of my grandfather coming back because he could easily be overwhelmed and needed to rest.
Visits like that continued to the hospital many times over the course of a month and a half until we went back to California. It was August of 2017, and we thought about coming back in December but my mother decided the airplane tickets were too expensive. Instead of going in the Christmas season, we could go back January or February. Months between September and early January were filled with reports from Aunt Betty saying she had taken my grandfather to the hospital. He ended up seeing the doctor more than five times, each visit showing signs of his health deteriorating. He came back each time without much done to him, just a regular examination.
In the afternoon of January 14, 2018 we got a frantic call from Aunt Betty in Hong Kong while I was at school. My mom picked up.
“I need to take him to the hospital,” she said, referring to my grandfather. He had accidentally choked on some food the maid was feeding him. I knew very well that his health was pretty bad, but because he had come out of the hospital fine every time, I just assumed that he would be okay.
They went to the hospital and found out that he had pneumonia. I had had pneumonia before when I was really young, but I just assumed that you could take some pills and get better. I was surprised to hear that the pills that were prescribed had no effect on him. My grandfather just got worse every day he was at the hospital. When I came home from school and my daily activities, there were always negative reports from my mom. He had been admitted on Monday, and by Wednesday he had to wear a mask to help with his oxygen. Aunt Betty and Win took turns staying with him at night in the hospital.
By the fifth day, we knew it was time for his fate to come. Our family agreed that we should try to fly and out and see him for one last time. My mother quickly booked plane tickets, no matter the price.
On the night of January 19, 2018, my grandfather was going to go any time. The plane tickets were scheduled three days later. We gathered around the table with terrible anticipation and dread. I watched as each text message from Aunt Betty popped up with trepidation.
His health is going down quickly. Going any time. 9:23 p.m. PST
It’s ok if you can’t make it back, you already did enough when you were here. 9:37 p.m. PST
We are just staying by his side and making him comfortable. All sisters are here. 9:41 p.m. PST
Passed. 11:43 Hong Kong time. 9:45 p.m. PST
When we heard that he had passed, my mother collapsed in her chair and we surrounded her with hugs and comforting words. Even my father was tearing up, though he was almost never seen crying. It shattered my mother’s heart that we were unable to see his last living moments.
A flight was arranged for just my mother, my sister, and I to go to Hong Kong immediately that night. My father would come later because of his work days, but for now my mother had lots to arrange. The funeral service, proper burial/cremation, and his belongings had to be taken care of first.
We arrived in Hong Kong on January 20th and it appeared to be challenging for Aunt Betty to come pick us up. We went to her house, and began planning the memorial service with the rest of the family. We found a pastor to preach and put together two photo albums with our favorite memories. We let people look through them during the funeral. My sister and I were invited to decorate them with stickers and fancy pens.
The funeral was one of the saddest events of my life. I sat next to my uncle, who was married to my oldest aunt, and was unable to figure out how he could always look at the positive side of things. I felt a slight obligation to hold back my tears because he was, too. When the pastor was done talking, my Aunt Alice had finished giving the speech, and my mother and Aunt Donna had played through Amazing Grace on the piano, my uncle said to me, “I know that everyone here is sad, and I am too. But another thing I am looking at is all the people who are here, and all the people who care about your grandfather.” Though I wasn’t the one crying, I think this really helped me get through tough times comforting everyone else around me.
Many of the people at the funeral knew my grandfather much better than I had. Some had spent years in the police force with him, some had escaped together from China to Hong Kong during the Communist Revolution, and the list could go on and on. I was proud to know that he had done all these brave things, even though I may have not been there to witness all of them. During this time, the couple months that we were there, uncles and I played a big role in comforting others, especially my aunts. Finally, in February, we flew back home with my father because most arrangements had been taken care of. Everyone in the family still hasn’t forgotten him, and has continued to respect him and his good deeds in life. No matter how long gone my grandfather seems, I will never forget him.
