She wasn’t always like that. When she was young, she was a scientist. My grandpa, Wang Dao Kui (王道奎) and my grandma, Li Ben En (李本恩) both worked at Nuclear Power Institute of China (中国核动力研究设计院) She and my grandpa were one of the head researchers and their high-tech invention was granted an international patent in March 1995. This patent is now governed by State Intellectual Property Office of P.R.China. But after my grandpa passed away, her memory slowly began to deteriorate.
When my family visits China, I scarcely visit her home. She lives in a obsolete condo with tarnished furniture, situated nearby the heart of the city. Most of her furniture was hand-crafted by my grandpa himself. On her aged walls, hung pictures of my sister and I, the ones that my dad mails to her time and time. When I do visit her, she stares at me as if I were an intruder, making myself at home. Once, we went to a mall with my grandma and as we were waiting in line, I leaned on the shopping cart. I realized that I was being watched. I turned around to find my grandma glaring at me, with ice in her eyes.
“Don’t touch,” she muttered coldly. “I’ll beat you up!”
The look in her eyes, of mock and threat, dared me to object and the calm, but demanding, tone made me slowly back away, inching closer to my mom.
Back at her condo, I dropped down on the seat closest to me, exhausted. My grandma walked in then lingered hesitantly around me. Then, she sat down on the stool, in front of my seat. A few seconds later, she turned around and suddenly smacked my knee. Feeling uncomfortable, I changed spots, getting the message that I was not wanted in that area. The next thing I see, is my grandma sitting on my old seat, with a flash of triumph in her eyes.
Since she can’t remember anything, my dad, uncles or caretaker has to assist her with using the washroom. When someone does, she has no clue of what’s going on and thinks that they are trying to hurt her. She’ll thrash, hit, and yell nasty comments at them. It takes plenty of coaxing, singing, and sweet talking to get her to sit on the toilet. While she is, she’d be grumbling about thieves and how they all are thieves. When she is done, she wouldn’t get up. However they try (by singing, talking with her, acting happy, etc), she would refuse to stand up. It would take a couple of minutes to finally win her over and continue on with the day.
She also can’t eat by herself. Someone has to feed her to prevent her from doing anything rash. Though if I were to feed her, she wouldn’t even take one bite. She would only eat from people that she is familiar or comfortable with, people like my dad. Some days, when she is in a bad mood, she’d refuse to eat anything at all. In those days, someone ought to comfort her and make her feel happier.
When I visited her, a week before we left, my dad’s younger brother (my uncle) took us to as restaurant with my grandma. My mom ended up sitting next to her. My grandma studied my mom’s face with a vacuous expression. Without further ado, she reached over and grabbed my mom's plate. My mom, who didn’t want to make my grandma mad, happily handed over her bowl and utensils as well. When the food arrived, my mom couldn’t eat, for my grandma was still keeping everything hostage, so my dad offered to switch seats with my mom. After my grandma looked at my dad up and down skeptically, to my surprise, she handed him the plates! A few minutes later, while everyone was eating, she picked up a piece of tofu and put it in my dad’s plate. Every once in a while, she would do the same, giving him something that she thinks tastes good.
A few days later, my dad told me a story: the morning before we returned to Canada, my dad visited my grandma again to see her before we leave. During breakfast, her caretaker was trying to feed her, but whatever she tried, didn’t work. 2 minutes passed. Then 5. The whole time my grandma would glance at the food, and then look away. My dad offered to feed her after seeing the stress in the caretaker's face. He doubted that it would work, but when she glanced at the food once more, she leaned in and took a bite.
"I think that she can still remember me deep down," my father said, more to himself than the caretaker. "I think she knows that I'll be leaving for Canada today."
As he was saying this, my grandma looked over at him and her eyes slowly welled up. Just a bit, but it turned light pink and glassy, like she was holding in tears. She stared at him, as if yearning to be able to say something. But just as it started, she turned back to the T.V. and resumed watching like nothing happened, dry eyes and all. So does she remember, still?
She also can’t eat by herself. Someone has to feed her to prevent her from doing anything rash. Though if I were to feed her, she wouldn’t even take one bite. She would only eat from people that she is familiar or comfortable with, people like my dad. Some days, when she is in a bad mood, she’d refuse to eat anything at all. In those days, someone ought to comfort her and make her feel happier.
When I visited her, a week before we left, my dad’s younger brother (my uncle) took us to as restaurant with my grandma. My mom ended up sitting next to her. My grandma studied my mom’s face with a vacuous expression. Without further ado, she reached over and grabbed my mom's plate. My mom, who didn’t want to make my grandma mad, happily handed over her bowl and utensils as well. When the food arrived, my mom couldn’t eat, for my grandma was still keeping everything hostage, so my dad offered to switch seats with my mom. After my grandma looked at my dad up and down skeptically, to my surprise, she handed him the plates! A few minutes later, while everyone was eating, she picked up a piece of tofu and put it in my dad’s plate. Every once in a while, she would do the same, giving him something that she thinks tastes good.
A few days later, my dad told me a story: the morning before we returned to Canada, my dad visited my grandma again to see her before we leave. During breakfast, her caretaker was trying to feed her, but whatever she tried, didn’t work. 2 minutes passed. Then 5. The whole time my grandma would glance at the food, and then look away. My dad offered to feed her after seeing the stress in the caretaker's face. He doubted that it would work, but when she glanced at the food once more, she leaned in and took a bite.
"I think that she can still remember me deep down," my father said, more to himself than the caretaker. "I think she knows that I'll be leaving for Canada today."
As he was saying this, my grandma looked over at him and her eyes slowly welled up. Just a bit, but it turned light pink and glassy, like she was holding in tears. She stared at him, as if yearning to be able to say something. But just as it started, she turned back to the T.V. and resumed watching like nothing happened, dry eyes and all. So does she remember, still?
No comments:
Post a Comment