Sunday, April 08, 2007

Easter Sunday

Easter Sunday was nice...

The whole weekend was nice even though it started out ... to be kind of ... marked with gloom.

I did not felt well ... since Thursday afternoon, I was feeling ... under the weather.

So I went home early. And Friday, I slept half of the day.

Perhaps I was broken down.

Maybe it was allergies.

I was tired. I never get sick. I mean, I NEVER get sick. Not when the colds and flu were going around during the winter. I always manage to slip by, unscathed.

But this Easter weekend, I was down.

Under the weather.

I just remembered that last year (or was it the year before), I had felt like I was coming down with something.

So unlike me to get sick, you know? Well, it's Easter weekend again ... and I felt like I was going to get sick. The fever, chills, headache, congestion. Could have been severe allergies.

Okay. I don't like how this post is starting.

So Easter Sunday came and it started out nice.

Johnny and I made coffee and had a breakfast of croissants and honey turkey. We cleaned up the house: pulled weeds, vaccuum (sp?), did the dishes and laundry, he cleaned the bathrooms, we gave the kitties wet food and fresh litterboxes, and even worked out to a new exercise video.

But despite the lovely morning, I had (and have been having a bad feeling) that something would be wrong with my family. Perhaps it would be my mom and dad ... I haven't talked to them in a while.

When all was done around the house, I checked the voicemail on my cell phone. My phone which I had ignored for over a day except only when Johnny called. It was my sister.

"Daly,..." she said, "I heard from our brother ... Grandma is dying."

What?! I was affected by the news but not surprised given my suspicion.

"It's Grandma Peeping Tom. Mom is preparing for the funeral but she has not told Dad yet.".

How Grandma Peeping Tom got her nickname is a long story but she is my father's mom. She had been sick and it is certain that she is dying.

I played the news over and over in my head as we were getting ready for Easter Dinner with my husband's family this evening: his parents, aunt, and grandmother from CA along with Shannon and Teresa (the maiden of honor and groomsman for our wedding).

I am not the supersticous type but I couldn't help but wonder ... was she sick when I was sick?

I was not that close to my grandmother but yet I was so sad after hearing the news. Even feelings of guilt crept over me.

I had only met her once. When I was in high school when she and my mother's mom came to America for their first time.

She had said (in Laotian) to my parents after meeting me, "So is this the one that looks like me?". Apparantly, I must've looked like an old woman at 3 years old. I actually thought I looked like her after seeing a black and white photo of me frowning into the camera. The sun was glaring on my face as I posed to take a picture for immigration.

My Grandmother, she was so curious about our life in America. She had lived in the suburbs of Laos--I mean the undeveloped country of Laos.

There was no electricty. No plumbing. None of the "luxuries" we take for granted in the states. (When my dad paid her a surprise visit to her home a few years ago, he slept on a rock wrapped with his jacket for a pillow.)

Like I said, she had only visited the states once while I was a teenager. And our life (of luxury) fascinated her. From the flushing toilets to blowdryers and curling irons to electric coils that heated up to boil water, cooking sticky rice--the staple of her daily meals back home. And so she earned the name, Peeping Tom, because she was always observing our ... what we thought was a normal, every day life but a true curiosity to her.

She loved life here in the states ... but her Visa expired and she soon went back home. To a country I have never stepped on since I left twenty-seven years ago. A place I have only seen videos of ... where the people didn't seem to know any better than the life they knew.

But my grandmother knew better. And oh the stories she must've told when she went back home about the "magical" little rooms that expanded to larger rooms (which I eventually figured out were elevators) when she got off the airplane in the U.S. airport.

I will miss her. Though I never knew her that well, as I looked at Johnny's grandmother tonight who was a few feet away from me. Laughing and full of life. I could touch her, hug her. I thought of my grandmother. The one I never really got to know but only met once in my lifetime.

She never baked me cookies. She never taught me how to cook. But what she reminded me of was humility and to find the simple joys in life--like watching your grandkids have the opportunity to live a better life and curl their hair with an electric curling iron... a luxury she had, for only a moment in life.


John Lynn said...

You should blog more often. This is great stuff.

dolly said...

Hi Daly, you are such a strong woman. You remain so quiet through your grief.... Most people complain about everyday life. It amazes me that you can remain so stoic, when this event happens.
I never had the pleasure of meeting my Grandma Petera, she was a very tough lady, who was pregnant most of her life. She was only 4'10 and 87lbs., she had 13 children develop in her womb. Only 11 survived. She never knew the finer things in life. She died from complications of Diabetes at age 59. I admire her strentgh. Such was such a little woman. Yet she was able to: keep her kids in line, a meal on the table, & clothes drying on the line. Today our younger generation is so consumed with material things. Daly I understand the loss that you must feel... And I admire your strength even more during your times of need..Much respect -D-