To the Grandmother I Never Knew

David's maternal grandmother passed away on Thursday, February 18.  Though I never had the privilege of meeting her, there is something about her that lives on in the minds and memories of those who did.  It wasn't until David's aunt, Debbie, gave a tribute at the funeral, that I understood what that was. 

The Korean word for "grandmother" sounds a lot like, to my English ears, the word harmony.  The first time I heard David's family use the word, I thought of how pleasant it sounded. Harmony is now my own endearing term for this grandmother I never knew.  

The irony is that her life was far from peaceful.

Harmony was born on November 12, 1927 in northern Korea.  She grew up in an era I can only read about and shudder to imagine.  It was the time of the Japanese occupation.  Her life was hard and material goods were scarce. 

Later, as a newly married woman with one daughter, the Korean War broke out. She experienced freezing cold, starvation, and near death.  Then, just as the border was drawn separating North Korea from South she made it across to the safety of South.  Only, however, to be permanently separated from her parents and younger siblings.  She never saw or heard from them again.

Harmony worked hard to survive.  She eventually had three more children. Her family moved to Japan, then later America.  But no matter where they were, she could always be found helping those in need.  Harmony was a pastor's wife.  In the states, she helped meet the needs of many newly immigrated church members from Korea.  She provided for her family also.  She grew a large vegetable garden to provide food.  She knitted mittens and sweaters, and sewed dresses.  She made sure her children never went hungry, even walking in the pouring rain to bring a forgotten lunch to her daughter at school.

This woman--this wife, mother, grandmother--must have been a mighty woman of faith.  A woman of endurance.  Of unwavering determination.  Yet a woman of sweet kindness and self-sacrificing love.  I know she was, because there are remnants of her life visible in her family today.  I've noticed the legacy she has passed on.  I notice the way her family remembers her. 

Though we never met, I know Harmony wouldn't want me to remember her as the woman I typically would--a woman struggling for the last two years of her life, the first two years of my marriage to her grandson.  But I won't.  I choose to remember her as the woman her family does.

A woman who fought the good fight, and finished the race.