My grandmother died last night at 6:20 pm at 69 years old. She had finally lost the six month battle against gall bladder cancer. I’m relieved and happy for her death. In life, she was in constant pain, hanging on by IVs and medication. Still, she was strong. She rejected pain medication until the end, and held on for longer than anyone had expected. My grandfather and the rest of my family was in limbo, staying with her while she skimmed the surface between life and death, waiting for the inevitable. Death was a release for her and for everyone in my family.

At first, I felt guilty that I didn’t feel more sad. In fact, it was almost as if nothing had really happened. But that is because in my mind, I had been preparing for this moment for the past few months. I had already said goodbye to her months before she actually died.

I never got to go back to China after spring break. I didn’t want to. I wanted to remember my grandmother as she was when she was still able to talk to me, still able to tell me to take care of myself.   When I last saw her, she was waving and smiling to me as the hospital elevator doors closed. Three months later, in the pictures that my mom brought home, she had shriveled into what I imagine one of those polyps from Ursala’s lair must look like in human form.

I was similar to her in a lot of ways; she always said that I was her favorite because we were both dragons and my middle name is her maiden name, Yuan. Her home is full of her random collections: a vase from Beijing, a painting of mine, a backpack from ten years ago. She must have been the inspiration for my love of stuff, and everytime my mom came back from China she would have a suitcase full of surprises my grandma bought for me. I found this old website I had made when I was first learning html — but it shows a lot of pictures of my room and my stuff.

I regret not asking her to teach me to knit. I always wanted to learn how to knit – I had heard as a child that it helped with surgical dexterity. When I found out I had gotten into college, I called my parents in China. My mom told my grandmother, who was living with them at the time in Beijing, that I was accepted into Stanford. My grandma asked what school that was, and my mom replied that it was the best school in the US. Then my grandma was so happy she didn’t stop knitting scarves. I still have all 11 of those scarves, each one a different color, shape, and size, and each one beautiful.

15 year old me wearing all the knitted goodies my grandma made me: scarf, socks, sweater

Before I left the hospital, she slipped the gold ring off her finger and slid it onto mine. It was too big for me, so I had to wrap red thread around it until it fit snugly. It is not in a perfect circle, so I  keep bending and contorting it in all directions – but I only make it worse. I think this was her way of passing the torch, asking me to take care of those who she was going to be leaving behind; my grandfather, my parents, my brothers. I will, don’t worry.

I will miss her. She was the most happy, genuinely kind person I had ever known. She filled her life with what she loved. She is a model of who I aspire to be.

On the day of China's Olympic Opening Ceremony, she brought us these to celebrate

A family portrait three months before she died

Here is a video of my grandmother that I had made as a present for Mother’s Day