December 7 1AM

My grandmother is one of the people I admire most. She was born in China, went to a missionary-run school as a teenager, and caught a boat to someplace called Sitiawan with a friend and her friend’s uncle for God knows what reason. She was never married, she adopted my mother from my blood grandmother because my mother was the 8th child. My blood grandmother could not afford another baby and couldn’t do anything but give her away, but she could do even less to prevent a pregnancy because of a lack of contraception in those days. Those were the days where you would work 40-60 hour weeks and count yourself lucky if you had meat on your plate twice a week.

My grandmother was also a pastor of a church that survives even until today, and in those days, where gender equality was unheard of, a female pastor was probably even more so a peculiar sight. She is still referred to as Nguriengan which is a sign of respect by many people. She also provided many people refuge with her as they hid in makeshift huts in the jungle during the Japanese invasion and occupation. I still remember as a small child, she would always come and tuck me into bed, she would read me a Bible story and pray for me before I go to bed. She would take care of me when my mother got sick and tired of my naughtiness.

I would love to write a book on her to journal her life, but living in a small town there are no records, and since my grandmother is 94 not many of her peers are around any longer to give testimony on her life. But what is most tragic, is that my grandmother suffers from Alzheimer’s Disease. Although we have not had her diagnosed medically, the symptoms are clear. It can be somewhat heartbreaking at times.

She forgets my name, she calls me Anthony which is my brothers name. And after telling her my name, she feigns a remembrance but within 10 minutes my name is forgotten again. She knows that I’m studying, and since the one week I’ve been back, she has asked me how much longer I have to study and if I’m going away again to study at least 30-40 times, she’ll repeat the same set of questions every 10 minutes. She’ll also keep trying to offer me food which I reject, and brings it to me too. I hate to see her strain her frail and gradually weakening body to get me food, so I try to discourage her from getting me food and saying that I’ve already eaten, but in the next 10 minutes she forgets and does it again. She can’t even read anymore, a favourite past time of hers, because she no longer remembers what happens after she puts her book down, this makes her not able to enjoy television either. She can string basic sentences together, but if attempting anything more, she tends to stutter something incomprehensible. Most days all she can do is sit and wait for time to pass, time for Jesus to come and take her home again,

I try not to think about this because I get sad when I dwell on it, I can only begin to wonder what goes on in her mind. I know I love my grandmother, but sometimes it can be so hard to be patient with her and not get frustrated and all the time I wish I could help her get better or not be bored. I question why she has lived such a great life and been reduced to such an anticlimactic fate, I wish her mind was sharp and we could have conversations, I wish she was strong and could still participate in normal activities of life. I wish that she could remember my name. But we all grow old, don’t we? And I know I have a lot to be thankful for. I know Jesus has a great reward stored up for her in heaven when she will never forget anything. And most of all, I know that I will keep loving my grandmother until the day she dies and beyond.

Because once, I didn’t know her name, but she knew mine,
And whenever I was hungry, without asking her, she would feed me,
Whenever I had a question, she would answer it,
Whenever I was in need of help, she would give me a hand,
And whenever I needed prayer, she was there already kneeling and crying out to God.

I owe her much more than just filial duty, I owe her so much of her love that she poured out into me… and when she needs my help, I will not get frustrated and try my best to repay her while I can. I love my grandmother.

“Yet He loved us, while we were still yet sinners”
I love more, because I was first loved most.