Years ago, my wife, Jess, and I found one of those online surveys. It displayed several images and asked the question: Which of these best depicts love?
One was a couple walking hand-in-hand on the beach. Another was of a husband and wife on their wedding day. Still another was of a romantic candlelit dinner for two.
Of course, they all were beautiful images and worthy depictions of life’s greatest mystery. But for me, the choice was simple: an image of an older couple holding onto each other, laughing in hysterics.
The reason is simple: They reminded me of Harry and Molly Lim, my grandparents. Harry, our Goong Goong (Chinese for Grandpa), died suddenly May 12, 2008. At that time, my family asked that I write and deliver his eulogy. In perhaps the toughest writing task of my life, I relayed my most vivid memories: Goong Goong teaching me how to swim and our family’s Wednesday night dinners. I wrote about his work ethic and business ventures. He taught me how to seize my days, how to commit to a family.
And how to love.
Molly Lim, my grandmother, never was the same after that day. She lost the love of her life without warning. In an instant, she seemed smaller, fragile, lost.
Just two weeks ago, Molly, our beloved Poa Poa, died Jan. 28 — also suddenly. She was 87.
It is impossible to overstate the example our Goong Goong and Poa Poa set for us. Theirs always will be the most spectacular love story I have ever heard.
Family lore has it that Goong Goong, while serving in the U.S. Army Air Force during World War II and stationed in China, went to a military ball with another girl by his side. There, he saw Poa Poa across the ballroom. She, too, had come with a date.
It didn’t matter. At the end of the night, Goong Goong and Poa Poa left together.
At the end of the war, Goong Goong returned to the U.S. and married his sweetheart. The day they married, Poa Poa made local history as Houston’s only G.I. bride from the Far East. A Houston Chronicle article and photo from that day sit on my desk as a constant reminder that I am a part of something much bigger.
“East Meets East as Mrs. Molly Lo Lim, wife of Harry Lim, seeks congratulations from her husband just after becoming an American citizen,” the caption reads. “Mr. Lim, born in Canton, is an American citizen — served with the United States Army during the war when he was stationed in China, where he met his wife. She is believed to be Houston’s only G.I. bride from the Orient.”
Their love deepened as they planted roots to raise a family. They had their three daughters and, later, five grandchildren.
To our knowledge, Goong Goong and Poa Poa were separated only once during their entire marriage. As my mom and aunts began sifting through Poa Poa’s belongings, they discovered a letter Goong Goong had written to her during that time.
“I can’t seem to be able to go to sleep at night,” Goong Goong wrote to his bride at 3 in the morning. “It’s not because I’m not sleepy. It’s because I missed you so much that I wish September gets here the very next morning, and I could hold you in my arms every chance I get.”
Even after more than six decades of marriage, Goong Goong and Poa Poa still glowed like high school sweethearts. They still held hands, still looked lovingly into each other’s eyes. Like my Aunt Jenny said when Goong Goong died, they were bookends: bookends that held each other up — with the rest of us tucked in-between.
Today, our family grieves. We miss our Poa Poa, and her loss also reminds us of the one we endured five years ago.
But, we do take comfort. Comfort in knowing our Goong Goong finally can put his head down and rest. We know he’s been waiting for his bride.
And we know these two — who somehow took life’s greatest mystery and unraveled it into an extraordinary example for all of us to see — are together again, in the perfect ending to our family’s perfect love story.