Everyone, meet my grandma, or as I called her, Popo. As of last night she said goodbye to the world. For someone in her 90s she looked damn good. She was still able to do chores, walk around the streets and speak loudly. Damn, COVID.
I don’t have many in-person memories with her since I immigrated over to America when I was so young, and can count on one hand how many times I’ve been back. Thankful for technology that we were able to spend time together even though we were apart.
She was my foodie in crime. Any picture I have of her was mostly us eating or after we ate, walking back home. My favourite memories of her have to do with food … like her hogging a bbq grill for just the two of us while the other four family members had to share their own. Or when she offered me a beer. Mum was against it but Popo made a big stink that this had nothing to do with Mum. Popo happily poured our beers into bowls as we scarfed down our squabs (?). What Popo says goes.
I know I’ll visit home again but what I’m not looking forward to is not being greeted by her boisterous voice and laughter, hearing her call me by my childhood nickname, and snappy, hilarious, witty comebacks. She is most definitely loved by all. She will be greatly missed but memories of her live on. I was blessed to have her as my Popo.
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