Remembering my Grandpa
Write the name of someone you deeply loved and who meant a lot to you who has passed away.
That was the first prompt listed on a paper card that was distributed to my husband and me as we entered the auditorium. We had bought tickets to see multi-platinum singer/songwriter Andy Grammer perform. While waiting for the show to start, we noticed a baby blue rotary phone (you know, the one where you have to stick your finger in a hole and pull the wheel with each corresponding digit) near us and wondered in curiosity. Would that be used during the show?
Andy Grammer wanted the audience to leave the show feeling connected to the people around us. All the cards were collected into a huge, clear container. Throughout the show, Andy would recite one of the prompts and then randomly choose cards to read out loud. If you recognized your response, if you felt comfortable enough, you were instructed to make your way to the nearest rotary phone and pick it up. Then you would have a short conversation with Andy, sharing your story with the wider audience.
Vulnerability, as the author Brene Brown points out, is what connects people together.
I already knew that. But while I feel comfortable sharing my stories on the Internet, the thought of standing up in real life and sharing personal stories with complete strangers evoked a small sense of fear and anxiety. “I really hope my card doesn’t get called,” I thought.
Public speaking has never been my forte.
Moon Hee Choi was the name I wrote down on the card. My grandfather passed away peacefully five years ago on July 7, 2019 after being diagnosed with cancer. I’m the eldest of nine grandchildren and probably should have said a eulogy, but I passed that responsibility to my male cousin. It was probably for the best. I’m an emotional person and would’ve burst into tears.
I also didn’t want to prepare for a eulogy because my relationship with my grandfather was distant, but close at the same time. He was a man of few words (at least to me), exuding a quiet strength. He was a constant presence in my life as a child, and I felt safe around him. Sometimes that’s really all you need - someone to be there with you. When I was a kid, I didn’t go to an after-care program. When my parents were working, my grandparents were the ones who watched me after school.
This past Sunday the theme of the sermon at church was “Christlike Compassion to the Grieving.” That, the prompt from the Andy Grammer show, and the fact that Dio de los Muertos is coming up inspired me to finally spend some time reflecting on my Grandpa (as he liked to sign his letters).
My Grandpa was a retired pastor, and I’m sure he’d want to be remembered for his strong faith. He had fled North Korea, from what my dad tells me. I never heard stories directly from him (perhaps because of the language barrier), but I would imagine a life of great struggle and suffering. He had five children. I only have one child and think that’s difficult enough.
I have the most random memories of Grandpa:
Being intrigued by his dentures and how they popped in and out of his mouth
Learning how to ride my bike from him
Playing Mavis Beacon Teaches Typing or random games on his desktop computer (Tetris, Solitaire, some sort of snake and apple game) - he was intrigued by technology
Going over to his small apartment every New Year’s Day to do our traditional bowing, eat some rice cake and dumpling soup, and watch the Rose Bowl Parade on TV
What I remember and miss the most about him is his passion for life. Up until he got cancer, he was the healthiest old guy I knew. He loved riding his bicycle and continued to ride it in his old age. He passed away at 92 years old - what a full life he lived.
Grandpa had a hunger for knowledge. His apartment was full of books and magazines. Maybe I get my love of learning from him. He also enjoyed traveling and visited many countries, Italy and Israel being a few of them. Despite his lack of English fluency, he corresponded with me through letters. He often ended them with “God bless you.”
I hope he’s proud of me for writing again. I hope he’s proud of me for attempting to dive a little deeper into the Bible. I hope he’s proud of me for trying to shine a light onto others, in my own little way.
