Thank you for all of your support; your kind and lovely comments mean so much to me. I never know whether to share or not to share personal, sad moments, but when I read your thoughtful responses, it encourages me to keep sharing.
So, thank you.
I reconnected with one of my cousins recently through Facebook (such a 21st-century admission to make, I know) who was at my grandma's funeral in Hong Kong, and she sent me photos of Mar Mar's apartment, which is on the market now. It's funny how photographs can trigger memories, can't it? And how vividly so, as well. Just seeing the metal door to the kitchen made me remember how it felt to push it open with my hand; seeing the door to the balcony in Mar Mar's room reminded me of the time I accidentally locked myself in (along with my brother!) during a typhoon when we were little and how panicked I felt (as usual).
In the meantime, John and I have been continuing on with our favorite hobby: putting the house together. Bit by bit, piece by piece, it's slowly coming together. See that huge gap between the wall and the floor? Yeah, we've got to fix that. In two other rooms.
But it's fun, and it's a process, and I guess what I'm trying to get at is that grief and mourning may not be fun, but they're processes. Things to get through. Until you can stand back, after time gives you space, and feel - I mean, really feel - joy at the wonderful memories you remember: a soft, warm hand you held while crossing the street, tendrils of steam rising from the rice you'd been served from her ancient rice-cooker (which my cousin said she saw in a museum in Taipei recently - it's THAT old!), or a gentle gaze from eyes that crinkled into lines when she laughed.
Meanwhile, just before I fall asleep, I wish and wait for her to visit me in my dreams.