He was the typical kind of Asian guardian who could not stop lecturing the same thing over and over again. I guess, I got use to it over the years.
He was the typical old man who could not stop gossiping, about the neighbors and about his already married children. I guess, it is not quite a bad thing once you reach a certain age.
He was the typical man who lacked a good deal of hygiene, whether on the streets or at home, although she would always clean up his mess at home. I guess, that is a habit that made him enjoy his wife's presence.
He was not the typical kind of Asian guardian who are learned and educated, but he could read and earned retirement fund. I guess, that is what I remember of his superficial life.
He was not the typical old man who sat at a table and peacefully ate his meal, but he would walk around the house nonstop and make his presence known. I guess, that is good since he would once in a while walk by the kitchen and help his wife make dinner. (She was happy then)
He was not the typical man who gave a crap about other's businesses, but he would rejoice in the accomplishments of his own children. I guess, he truly truly loved all three of them - in the heart which later failed him.
She is as much a realist as he. She knew it was coming close, but she sat by him - every day and night - wiping away his tears and sweat, trying to convince herself that everything will be fine...just fine. She told him to be strong when he was suffering, yet she could not keep her own faith strong. She knew she was going to lose him, because it was reality.
He could not speak for he had no faith and no strength, but he was conscious. At the moment, all he wanted was to be with her, with his children, and with his beloved grandchild. Yet, nobody was there by his bed except her - whom of which had spent the past 50 some years holding his hand. She was doing the same thing she had always done before, caressing his already fleshless hand. He said nothing, and he gave in; he left in a little bit of rush, a little bit of doubt, and perhaps a little bit of peace.
Whenever she picked up her bowl to prepare her meal, she thought of him, she told me. She was picking his stone that morning, and she could not stop crying, she told me. She was cleaning out his stuff yesterday, and she could not continue, she told me. I guess, I never understood until now what losing someone feels like, what loving someone truly is, and what a family truly means.
He will be with her forever, because she will remember him forever.
He will be with me forever, because I love him.
I was finally able to cry, in pain, in peace, and in joy.
