by Ellen Oh
“You are incredibly talented,” she says. “Is this your grandfather?”
I nod. I’ve drawn him sitting in his armchair, smiling. A pose I’m so familiar with. The sharpness of missing him stabs me in my heart like shards of broken glass.
Rachel tears the picture out of the book and hands it to me. “I think you should give this to your mom. She would love it.”
Taking the picture, I stand up to leave.
“Junie.” Rachel rises and grasps one of my hands. “Everyone grieves differently. It’s okay if you don’t feel like talking or crying or laughing or doing anything. Life’s never going to be the same, because you lost someone you love. But it will get better, I promise.”
Her words give me some hope. With a quick nod, I walk out to the waiting room where my dad is waiting.
“How did it go?” he asks.
I shrug and then give him the picture of Grandpa.
He whistles softly under his breath. “Junie, this is incredible. It looks exactly like him.”
Before we can leave, Rachel asks my father to come see her in private for a moment. There is a mother with her teenage daughter sitting on the left side of the room. I go to sit in a chair on the opposite side and face the wall. After a few moments, my dad comes back out and we leave the office. In the car, he gently asks me how I’m feeling. I just stare down at my picture of Grandpa.
That night, I can’t sleep. During the day my head is foggy, and I don’t really think clearly. But at night, my brain races with so many thoughts. The doctor said Grandpa had another stroke and that is why he died. When he was not himself, I should have insisted they get the doctor right away. I knew something was wrong. If the doctor had come then, could they have saved him? If only I were an adult, I could have made myself be listened to. But I’m just a kid. I have no power.
I can’t stop all these thoughts. And I blame myself for not seeing him more often. I’m so angry and I’m so sad.
I jump out of bed. Maybe I need to drink some milk or some hot honey-and-lemon water. I wish I was at Grandma’s and could have some of her barley tea. That would be perfect.
As I head downstairs, I hear my parents speaking in the kitchen. I tiptoe down the stairs and sneak closer. I can hear my mother weeping softly and talking.
“I’m so worried about Mom. She’s devastated. I’m glad Paul is with her, but he can’t stay forever. He has to go back to work.”
“We’ll convince her to move in with us,” my dad responds. “It’s not healthy for her to be alone in that house with all those memories.”
“I know. I’ve already mentioned it so many times, and she keeps refusing. You know how stubborn she is. She said it’s her house and she’s perfectly capable of staying by herself. But you know the widowhood effect. Look at your parents!”
My own heart almost stops at her words. I was too young when my other grandparents died, but I’d heard so much about how my father’s father couldn’t bear to live without his wife. And he literally wasted away. The thought of losing my grandma also makes me want to scream. I cover my mouth to keep from making any sounds.
“Your mother is one of the strongest people I know. She eats healthy and she exercises regularly. What other almost-eighty-year-old do you know who does the breast-cancer-awareness 5K race every year?”
“Your father was healthy too. It’s not physical health; it’s mental health.”
“I know. And we have to make sure we watch her carefully. Help her get back to work and keep busy.”
I can hear Mom start to cry again. “I can’t lose my mom too.”
No longer thirsty, I slowly walk up to my room. I’m remembering Grandpa’s last words to me. “Look after Grandma.” He made me promise to take care of her. Had Grandpa known he was going to die? Is that why he asked me? Because he was worried about her?
In my room, I close the door and feel my legs give out as I slump onto the floor. The tears I’ve been holding back all this time come hard and fast.
“Oh, Grandpa. Even at the end, you were worrying about Grandma.”
All the emotions I’ve been suppressing erupt, and I’m sobbing so loudly my parents come and find me. I sob out everything I’ve been holding in. Mom listens and cries with me, rocking me in her arms. Dad just sits and holds my hand.
Finally, I find my voice again.
“Mom, Dad, can I stay at Grandma’s for a while?” I ask. “I don’t want her to be alone.”
“Will you be all right?” Mom asks.
I think of my promise to Grandpa, and I wipe away my tears and nod. “I need to do this for Grandpa. I promised him.”
These words fill me with a purpose that clears out the fog I’ve been under. It drowns out the voice of depression. I will not let Grandpa down. I will take care of my grandma.
Good girl, Junie-ah. Good girl.
MY PARENTS DROP ME OFF at Grandma’s, and I leave my bag in the guest room she’s made up for me. Uncle Paul left in the morning to go back to work. Before leaving, he gave me a big hug and said, “Thanks for staying with Grandma, Junie.”
“I’ll take good care of her, Uncle Paul.”
He smiled, and for a moment he looked just like Grandpa. “I know you will! See you next month.”
Now alone in the house, I look for Grandma and find her sitting on the sofa, a blank expression on her face. I sit down next to her and wait for her to notice me.
“I don’t know why you want to stay with me, Junie,” she says after several minutes. “I’m not good company. Not even sure I can cook any food for you.”
Grandma is definitely more low-energy now than I’ve ever seen her.
“It’s okay, Grandma! I know how to make ramen with an egg. And I can make us grilled cheese sandwiches. But best of all, I can order food on my phone!” I show her the food-delivery app that my mom told me to download. She said to order as much as I want and make sure Grandma eats.
She just nods vaguely and turns on the television. It’s a Korean channel that she gets through her cable network. It’s some kind of variety show, but I can tell that she is not really watching it, just staring off into space.
“Grandma, did you eat any lunch?” I ask.
“Hmmm? Oh yes, I ate something,” she answers without looking away from the TV. I look in the kitchen. It doesn’t look like she’s made anything in a while. She hasn’t even brewed her daily pot of barley tea. It’s so odd not to smell the fresh, earthy, nutty smell that I’ve grown to associate with my grandparents.
That’s one thing I know I can do. I text my mom and ask her how to brew it and then follow her instructions carefully. Thirty minutes later, I bring over a mug of the hot tea.
Grandma gives me a small smile.
“I didn’t know you can make boricha,” she says.
“Mom just texted me the instructions. Did I do a good job?”
She takes a sip and nods. “Perfect! Grandpa would really like it!”
Then her smile fades, and she puts the mug down and returns to staring at the TV. I change the channel to a nature program, which I’m hoping is more calming. But when a killer whale catches and eats a baby seal, I immediately change it back to the Korean variety show. My grandma doesn’t react at all. I don’t think she even noticed what I did. I think of Grandpa and wonder what he would do. He was the best at getting Grandma out of her bad moods.
I have to do something drastic. My dad let me bring his laptop with me. I go to my room to finish the special video project I started just for Grandma. Only through the editing process did I find that I had recorded lots of wonderful footage of Grandpa talking about Grandma. It made me think of what Grandpa would have wanted me to do with all of it, and then it hit me. Grandpa told me that he’d never done anything romantic for Grandma, not even a love letter. Here was my chance to make one for her. I’ve been working on it the last two nights. I’m almost done. I just need to add music and smooth out all the rough transitions.
It’s almost dinnertime wh
en I finally emerge from my room. My eyes hurt and my back feels achy from being hunched over the laptop for hours. But I’m done.
In the living room, I see that Grandma’s fallen asleep on the sofa. I turn off the TV and decide the first thing I’ll do is order food for us. My rumbling stomach reminds me that I barely ate lunch. Looking at all the restaurant options, it dawns on me that Grandma doesn’t really like to eat out. She doesn’t even like pizza, which is kind of bizarre to me because who in the world doesn’t like pizza? I love it so much I sometimes wonder if I am really related to her. Grandma’s a great cook. She’s always cooking all kinds of foods, not just Korean food but Spanish, Chinese, Italian, Vietnamese, and even Russian. A long time ago, she knew a Russian chef who taught her how to make the most delicious beef stew. My mouth waters at the very thought of it. Because she’s such a good cook, we rarely eat out with Grandma. I’m not sure what to do.
All of a sudden, Grandpa’s voice pops in my head.
“Your grandma is always trying to make me eat healthy foods.”
Of course! Grandma always had salads or green vegetables at every dinner, no matter what she was serving. I remember now that my mom bought these gourmet salads for my grandparents from a new salad-only place. Grandpa complained the whole time, but Grandma ate her entire salad.
I text my mom and ask her what she ordered. And she immediately texts me back that she’ll handle it and get it delivered. Within thirty minutes Mom shows up with a big bag of food. Grandma wakes up when the doorbell rings, and she goes to greet Mom.
“Sasha, you didn’t have to go through all this trouble,” she says in surprise. “I was going to ask Junie to order us a pizza.”
“Grandma, you don’t eat pizza!” I say, as I take the bag and carry it into the kitchen.
“Yes, but you love it! You and Grandpa would always eat an entire large pepperoni pizza by yourselves!”
That sad smile again. It hurts my heart.
“I remembered Mom bought you a fancy salad that you really liked. So I asked her to get it again!”
“But you don’t like salad,” Grandma says. “You’re just like your grandpa.”
Mom is unpacking everything on the kitchen table. “Which is why I got her karaage instead!”
My mom is the best. She also went to my favorite little Japanese café and got me a bento box of Japanese fried chicken with rice, miso soup, and potato salad. The potato salad is kind of an odd combo, but it really works. Mom joins us for dinner with a salad of her own.
“Grandma, since Mom is here, can I show you a video I made?” I ask around a big bite of my fried chicken and rice.
She frowns. “I’m not sure I’m in the mood to watch any school videos for you, Junie.”
“Oh, it’s not for school,” I say. “It’s a video that Grandpa would have wanted me to show you.”
Mom’s face lights up while Grandma looks surprised. “Junie, that sounds wonderful! How did it come about?” Mom asks.
“It started with my oral history project,” I explain. As I tell them both all about how I first began recording Grandpa, I notice that Grandma is absentmindedly eating. This makes me so happy that I talk as much as I can, forgetting to eat my own food. When I finally run out of things to say, I eat my cold chicken as fast as possible. Lucky for me, it is still delicious. Grandma has eaten half of her salad. Mom looks at me and gives me an approving wink.
“So, are we ready to watch the video?” I ask.
When they agree, I lead them to the living room, where I’ve connected the laptop to the big-screen TV with the cable my dad gave me. Mom and Grandma sit on the sofa as I start the video.
Immediately Grandpa shows up on the screen. He’s sitting in his armchair wearing his favorite red sweater, and his short white hair sticks up on the top of his head. He smiles at the camera.
“Are you ready, Junie?” he says.
“It’s all you now, Grandpa,” my video self replies offscreen.
“So, this is for Grandma only?”
“Yep.”
He stares at the camera and scratches his head bashfully. “I don’t know where to start.”
My video self laughs. “Why don’t you start with when you first saw her?”
“The first time I saw your Grandma, I fell in love.” He then proceeds to tell the story of how they first met when they were both in college. I sneak a peek at my grandmother and can see her eyes shining with tears, her hand holding my mom’s tightly, but I can see that she is smiling.
“Grandpa, did you ever tell Grandma you loved her?”
He shakes his head sadly. “Because it isn’t what I was raised to do. It was not the Korean way. But I will say it now. I love you, my beautiful wife. Ever since the first time I met you when you were at Ewha. It may have been an arranged marriage for you, but for me it was always a love match. Yeobo, saranghae!”
Grandma is now crying. “Nado, saranghae yeobo! I’m sorry I never told you also.” She sobs so hard I pause the video, because I don’t want her to miss any part of it.
The Korean words for “honey, I love you” sound especially bittersweet to me. Especially knowing that they are words they never shared with each other.
“Grandma, keep watching,” I tell her. I wait for her to wipe her eyes and compose herself before pressing play.
My voice on-screen is speaking.
“Did Grandma ever say ‘I love you’ to you?”
Grandpa smiles and says, “She tells me she loves me every day. When she makes my favorite dishes. When she makes me drink healthy smoothies that taste terrible. When she nags me about taking my high-blood-pressure medicine. When she forces me to take her out somewhere, to make a memory together, even though I’d rather stay at home and watch TV. All these little gestures tell me she loves me.”
The video then transitions to a montage of scenes with Grandma coming over to feed Grandpa, taking away his salty nuts or candy, bringing him his medicine and vitamins, laughing at him, nagging him.
I sneak a peek at my grandma and my mom, and I can see both of them smiling and crying.
The last scene of the montage is when Grandma snatches his favorite salty nuts and replaces it with a bowl of blueberries.
“They’re sour!” he complains.
“Eat them anyway,” Grandma says as she walks away. “They’re good for you!”
Grandpa smiles into the camera and gestures to Grandma’s departing form. “See what I mean? She loves me.”
The scene transitions back to Grandpa in his red sweater.
“So Grandpa, how do you show Grandma how much you love her?”
He scratches his head sheepishly. “I don’t really know.”
The scene transitions to another montage. When Grandma leans over to place a fruit plate on the table, Grandpa is staring at her with so much love in his eyes. When Grandma is nagging at him and Grandpa simply answers, “Yes, Yeobo!” When Grandma asks if we like her new dress that she just bought, and he tells her how beautiful she looks. That she is the most beautiful woman in the world. And the last scene, when Grandma leaves a dark green smoothie in a tall glass for Grandpa to drink.
“Do you want to taste it?”
On-screen me shows up and sniffs at it and then makes a revolted face.
“Grandpa, it smells like farts.”
“You’d better drink it all, Yeobo!” Grandma yells out from the kitchen.
Grandpa makes a stinky face at me, and then he raises the glass and drinks every drop. I am gazing up at him with awe and disgust.
He belches and grimaces. “Tastes like farts also.”
“How can you drink that?”
“Because your grandma told me to,” he answers simply.
Grandma comes back out with a plate of clementines. She takes the empty glass and pats Grandpa on the head, saying, “Good job!” The look Grandpa gives her is shining with his love.
“Did Dad drink that every day?” my mom asks. I pause the video to hear my Grandma�
�s response.
“Every day,” she replies. “It is so healthy. It has kale, broccoli, and spinach, but I add apple cider to make it sweet.”
“Mom, I know what it tastes like,” my mother responds. “You made me drink it once, and I almost threw up. Only Dad would willingly drink that for you.”
Grandma laughs and wipes her eyes. I turn the video back on.
On-screen we see Grandpa with the red sweater again.
“Grandpa, anything else you want to tell Grandma?”
He leans forward and clasps his hands. “Yeobo, thank you for making me the happiest man in the world by being my wife for fifty-seven years! You are the best wife, and I am so lucky to have you. Saranghae!”
The video fades to black.
We are all quiet. I can feel Grandpa’s presence in the room. I want to talk to him, tell him how much I love him. How much I miss him. I sit where I am on the floor next to my laptop, trying not to cry. Suddenly, I feel arms wrap around me from behind. My grandma sits behind me, holding me tight. I can hear my mom sniffling in the background.
“Junie-ah, thank you so much! This is the most wonderful present anyone could have ever given me.”
I turn around and hug my grandma. Wherever Grandpa is, I’m sure he is smiling too.
“SO, GRANDMA, WHAT MADE YOU pick Grandpa?” I ask. “Grandpa said he didn’t know why you agreed to even meet with him.”
It’s been several days since I showed Grandpa’s love video to Grandma and she has watched it ten times so far. She laughs and cries every time.
We are sitting in the kitchen, plucking the tails off the bean sprouts Grandma is making for dinner. It’s a long and tedious process, but I don’t mind it because I can see Grandma needs this kind of mindless work right now.
Grandma’s eyes grow soft. “I recognized him as one of the polite boys who came to meet me at school. But he never tried to talk to me. He was very respectful that way. I thought he didn’t like me, so I was surprised when I saw his picture on the marriage proposal. He was the only one who smiled in his matchmaking photo. He had such a sweet smile. It made me think he was a good man. And I was right.”
