The Unwinding of the Miracle: A Memoir of Life, Death, and Everything That Comes After

by Julie Yip-Williams

At the end of the fourth day of my visit, I went to bid her farewell, knowing that once I left her side that evening I would never see her alive again. The room was filled with her children and grandchildren. I took her hand—it was too warm and as dry as rice paper. Her eyes remained closed, as they were most of the time now. “I have to go back to school tomorrow, Grandma,” I said in our Chinese dialect. I wasn’t sure she could hear me or if she was even awake. I switched into English then, because I didn’t have the words in Chinese, knowing she would understand at least the universal sentiments. “I love you, Grandma. I’m going to miss you so much. And I’m going to make you so proud of me, I promise.” In tears, I put her hand back on her stomach and turned away to leave the room, to find a corner in the hallway where I could cry and grieve in solitude. I barely heard the sudden sobs that arose from those in the room as my father grabbed my shoulder and forced me to face my grandmother once more. She’d raised her hand and was waving it ever so slowly back and forth in a gesture of farewell. What that simple act must have cost her in terms of pain endured and energy spent I can only imagine. Understanding that this was her ultimate gesture of love left me crying for days, months, and years afterward.