“Grief is like the ocean, it comes in waves, ebbing and flowing. Sometimes the water is calm, and sometimes it is overwhelming. All we can do is learn to swim.” -Vicki Harrison

When I returned to my Popo’s home two weeks ago, the walk from the MTR station to her home was different from the start. While the sights and sounds were all the same, I knew that she wouldn’t be waiting in her home. When I walked in and pressed “3” in the elevator, I moved around slow like molasses. Part of me wanted to see her place to be near her things, yet I almost couldn’t bring myself to step into her home where I knew she could not be found. When I finally turned the key and walked in, I sat down and cried. I sat facing the couch looking at her old “spot”, the little tuck away brush she kept on her console, the mugs where she would pour her warm water, and the cane my son loved to play with. Everything was the same, but nothing was the same, all at the same time.

There were a lot of events that took place during those six days that was there, but on the last morning of my trip I was able to take one last familiar look around. It was from my vantage point behind my camera where I picked out the things that would remind me most about her place. I’m not sure when, how, or what will happen to her place but I wanted to remember it the way it was. These will be the photos that I plan on sharing with Jude as he gets older, as I walk him through my childhood through one photo at a time. There are many things in life that I have learned to celebrate and love, but I have also learned on this journey of life that some times we need just a few moments to grieve and be silent. I have to say as sad as it was to have to say goodbye to Popo at her funeral, I loved knowing how happy she would’ve been to see all her grandkids and kids come back for her. I know she will rest in peace as is placed with my Gong Gong, as they both look out towards the vast ocean. We love you, we’ll miss you, and we’ll see you again…