I hated visiting Grandma Chiang’s apartment. There, all my flaws – from poor eating habits to horrible piano playing – were harshly evaluated. Most stays resulted in Grandma Chiang lecturing me as I sat in restrained silence. During one snowy February visit, however, everything changed. As my father unlocked Grandma Chiang’s apartment door, #5E, I shuffled inside as always, dreading the anticipated lecture session. Immediately past the threshold, however, my legs halted and all of the oxygen rushed out of my body. There she was, lying on the ground next to an overturned four-legged stool. My parents flew past my frozen frame to the disturbing sight. Images of them, an ambulance, and technicians blurred together; then, it was just me, sitting alone on a cold, plastic chair in the hospital waiting room.
She had suffered a stroke, one which tragically, completely, took away her independence. My mother’s focus shifted suddenly away from me as she tended to her own mother. She would remain fixed at Grandma Chiang’s side for, at first, periods of days. These days soon stretched into weeks. At the age of nine, I had never spent more than an extended school day away from my mother. Hurt and confused by her sudden absences, I threw severe tantrums, displayed for attention whenever my mother would reappear at home. I had never considered life without my mother. At the time, I had never washed a load of laundry, cooked a meal, cleaned a toilet, or even woken myself up for school. My father did not have the time or patience to adopt these tasks. Thus, the job to keep my household together fell onto my incapable shoulders.
Initially, I refused to move. I would watch TV for hours, basking in self-pity. As time passed, however, I realized that my dad and I could not live off of Chinese take-out food and dirty laundry forever, and I attempted to piece our house together. After overcoming a few flaming toast mishaps, I advanced to the stove. Greasy, undercooked tilapia on soaked paper plates became my father s favorite meal. Learning to separate laundry into darks and lights was the next stage, and physically, the house started to become normal again. A sense of home, however, took a bit longer to restore. I wanted my mother to be there, equipped with a comforting word or hug at any moment. Sweating and screaming, I would have to comfort myself back to sleep during those nights of horrific nightmares. As my mother’s absences became more frequent, I gradually relied less on her as a major comfort source. Instead, I became dependent on my own means and abilities.
On the first day of fifth grade, my mother was not home to walk me to school, our time-honored tradition. That year, however, I did not need her by my side. Alone but confident, I strolled into the chaotic schoolyard of rowdy classmates.
Grandma Chiang died later that year on June 17, 2002. I was devastated, but now, looking back, I can see the smallest silver lining in that cloud. I gained my independence, something priceless that will never disappear from me. When my mother permanently returned home, she instantly recognized my transformation. I was strong enough not only to handle Grandma Chiang’s passing but to also be my mother’s crutch to carry her through her mom’s death.
Throughout the entire journey, I was never able to fully comprehend why my mother would go missing for those days and weeks at a time. She was Grandma Chiang’s primary caregiver. I was young, selfish and dependent on my mother, so I didn’t understand or try to understand this concept. But now, I am finally starting to realize the extreme sacrifices that my mother had to make in order to fulfill her duties. She basically had the weight of the world on her shoulders for a couple of years, as she juggled raising me and caring for her mom. She never complained (or if she did, she held it together in front of me).
As my own mother ages, I know that my obligation as a caregiver is coming. Hopefully it will be a long time from now – but I know that when it arrives, I want to take on this most honorable and most loving of all responsibilities without complaint. I learned from the best and I want to be able to honor those who taught me about dependence, independence, and ultimately, love.
Christine Liu is a rising sophomore at Columbia University, possibly pursuing a major in Chemical Engineering and a minor in Economics. She is currently an intern for eCareDiary.com but unfortunately is leaving the country soon to study in China for a semester. She will greatly miss the staff at eCareDiary.com and wishes them all the best.
