My grandmother was an unmarried Korean immigrant, with a child (my mother). My mother was the product of a rape committed by an american soldier.

My grandfather (not biological) was an army soldier.He met my grandmother when he was 19, married her, and adopted my mother.

They had a second daughter, and nearly 30 years of marriage before my grandmother was diagnosed with Multiple Myeloma, and given approximately 3 years to live.

Her and my grandfather made countless trips to the best specialists in the country, they fought and fought. Fast forward 13 years later, she was still going strong. Then, in May 2009, she was diagnosed with Leukemia. The same doctor who had watched her fight and win for 13 years, told her, "This time, I don't think we'll be able to win." She responded so eloquently, "It's okay, I'm tired now."

She passed less than 48 hours after being diagnosed.

This was all sad but it was the progression of life. She had lived a good life, and passed on love and wealth to her children. It always made her happy that her children were well fed, that they never knew hunger.

It happened at her wake. The morning of, our family was let in to say our goodbyes in peace before others arrived. One by one we went to her and said our goodbyes in tears, my grandfather went last.

In my 21 years of life, I had never seen him cry, stutter, or question his words or actions.

I watched my grandfather go back in time, and speak to the woman he met all those years ago. He knelt next to her, grasping her hands, sobbing for what felt like eternity as all of their children and grandchildren looked on.

"You're the most beautiful girl I've ever met. You're my girl. You're my girl. You'll always be my girl."