Memories of Nai Nai

Some of my earliest memories include my Nai Nai, my paternal grandmother. After my grandfather passed, Nai Nai came to live with us in Dallas when I was barely three, and I spent every day with her while my parents worked. Nai Nai never spoke much English, and her Mandarin was so heavily accented that most Mandarin-speaking folks had difficulty understanding her words. But not me.

When I was a kid, we spent countless hours watching American TV, and Nai Nai would explain to me for each soap opera or drama who was the good guy and who was the bad guy and what they were going to do next episode. Even though she didn't know English, Nai Nai could read faces pretty well, as what often was not explained was more interesting than what was said. She also loved watching the adventures of The Lone Ranger and Grizzly Adams. But her all-time favorite was The Price Is Right, and she celebrated with a cheer each time a complete stranger won.

I treasured those moments in my childhood when we played card games, later mah jong for no money at all, or prepared our meals in tandem, often in complete silence, or went on neighborhood walks or simply sat while she commented about mundane matters while I listened to the rhythms of her funny Chinese accent. When I was almost five, Nai Nai left Dallas to live with my uncle and aunt, and I remember crying inconsolably as I said good-bye, I who almost never cried during my childhood. As I grew older, the visits to Nai Nai's place grew more frequent, and I learned Nai Nai wrote articles published in the Chinese newspaper and that she also loved to sing, usually warbling old Chinese songs while my uncle accompanied. I think perhaps I received some of my artistic temperment from her. After I started working, my visits became less regular as my adult life overwhelmed my time. But whenever I saw her, Nai Nai's face always beamed in a big dentured smile, and after I'd kiss her on her paper-thin cheek, she always called me Kai-shin-bao, which means "Happy Treasure."

Nai Nai passed peacefully in her sleep, after a few weeks in and out of hospitals. Since she was in her mid-90s, we were expecting it, but not so soon. As was her wish, her body has been cremated. I am looking over my writings and trying to figure out what to say for her memorial service. My family values brevity in speech, so perhaps I will select conciseness that can be found only in poetry. But vivid memories from my childhood, and more humorous ones from my adulthood threaten to overwhelm me, often at inappropriate times.

As a child I almost never cried, but now I find myself bursting into tears, even in public, or when I have no tears left, I feel a huge sadness sit on my shoulders, my chest, my face, a smothering weight that is perhaps obvious to the casual observer, as random strangers have asked me "Are you okay?" When I told them my grandmother died, they usually took a step back. What makes our American culture so uncomfortable with public grieving? Death is a natural part of living, and everyone grieves in his own way. We grieve for the loss of our loved one. We grieve for time wasted and memories fading too soon. We grieve that we will never see, smell, hear, hold our loved one again. We grieve that one day we will go, too.

Good-bye, Nai Nai, with greatest love and happiest treasured memories.