Today, my new book, The Manor of Dreams, comes out. I’m so proud of it and grateful for everyone who’s worked on it with me. I’m thrilled that it’s out in the world. For more information on the book and the events I’m doing, see my website. Here, though, I’m going to write a little bit of a different post than what I was planning.
I lost my grandfather last night. He meant the world to me and I will miss him dearly. Almost exactly two years ago, I wrote a book called Ruby Lost and Found that was dedicated to my family and that I specifically wrote for my grandparents, who had helped raised me when I was a kid and were the sweetest, gentlest souls. I was asked to write a speech last summer for ALA and I immediately thought of my 外公. If you’ll indulge me, I would love to tell the story I shared in that speech now, because I want to share it somewhere.
“I grew up in the Midwest and every day, my grandfather walked me to school and picked me up when it was over. It was about a mile or so. One day I was still at school and the sky started getting all dark at the end of the day, and the sky turned green, and a terrifying windy storm picked up, and the tornado warning came on.
They wouldn’t let us out of school. For an hour, we were in a real extended tornado drill. When they finally let us go, my grandfather was waiting for me outside. I hadn’t even realized at the time how scary it must have been for my grandfather to be walking alone, outside, in these terrifying conditions, not even knowing what a tornado was and in a place that was foreign to him. The umbrella he was carrying was entirely busted and had scratched him up. He was pretty shaken. But when I asked him if he was okay, why he left the house, he simply said, “I had to pick you up”, because he thought I would be waiting for him to and that I would get anxious if he didn’t. He had walked through a literal tornado because he was doing what he always did; he wanted to walk me home from school.
It’s no wonder I wrote a story about grandparents. I had the best ones. I lost my grandmother to dementia when I was a teenager and back then I wasn’t quite mature enough to articulate just how much I missed her and loved her. I eventually found a way. I think, as kids, when you’re young, it is difficult to come to terms with loss, to even put words to it. There is a good deal of loss in my book, Ruby Lost and Found: the loss of a grandparent, her grandmother’s loss of memory, the impending loss of a beloved Chinatown bakery due to gentrification. But at the same time, Ruby discovers that she is surrounded by such an enormous magnitude of love, from her Chinatown community, from her new friends, and the kind of love that lingers and emerges from loss. That is always hers to keep. She will not lose that.”
To me this really is what my writing is about. They are love letters. When I write them I think of my family, inherited and found. Ruby is dedicated to my family; Manor to my found family. How lucky I am to have been cared for in a way that allows me to carry that love in my stories; how lucky I am to get to do this, two years ago, and now. If anything, I will think of him and celebrate that today.
Dear God your writing is a gift, Christina. Both the words and the thoughts you share. Thanks for sharing your gift with the world here and with all your works.
Love this piece, love this book, love you. What a cycle of loss and creation life is, huh? Sending you so much love, friend. Hope you can be gentle with yourself amidst it all. <3