My father’s father, Liang Shao Pu, lived to the age of ninety-three. A lifelong student and then teacher of tai chi and a diehard Wheel of Fortune fan, he had a slow, deep‑throated laugh that never failed to infect my sister and me, sending us into spasms of giggles. After moving from Taiwan to the United States to be close to his children and grandchildren, my grandfather often picked us up from school, the silhouette of his baseball cap visible from down the block. He was never late.
My grandfather quietly sustained the heartbreaks of my parents’ divorce, the passing of most of his friends, and then the loss of his wife of more than forty years. After my grandmother’s stroke, she could no longer care for herself. With tremendous courage and love, for years he cooked every meal, talked to her, and kept her comfortable until the end. One of my greatest regrets in life is that we did not provide him with the same comfort and care in the final moments of his life.