World's Greatest Grandma

This is my Lola. She's 92 years old and strong, physically and mentally. She's always laughing. She's the coolest. In the mornings she makes me coffee and sits with me when I eat breakfast (she's usually finished eating by the time I wake up). Lola tells me tales of old. Like when her father took her to China when she was 12. She still remembers walking through the village during a festival and watching the men lying down in colorful tents smoking opium, and how the juice of the poppies was collected in the fields by workers. Her father was apprently fond of opium. When they returned to the Philippines a year later, she had a new brother who they had purchased.
Lola weaves stories as if she is still there. About how she had to ask the captain of the boat to leave his quarters so she could give birth to her first child, my Auntie Marina. She delivered all 8 of her children all by herself, having had learned how to cut the ubilical cord in 6th grade home economics class. During WWII she fled to the hideout in Mabini with my Auntie Inday slung to her chest. When she returned to her house it had already been burned to the ground by the Japanese. She had a shotgun with which she used to hunt bats for food. Like I said, she's the coolest.

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Tomorrow I depart for new shores and I'm looking forward to it too. Time to switch sides. A couple of nights ago I was in a Starbucks and I was struck with a feeling of missing home, Seattle especially (obvi!). But we're locked in time. Can't rewind. Later that night on the couch, Hope. A Hope that transcends all words and all my petty speculation of what lies in the future. It will be all good. It is a good. And the goodness which is still yet to come lies beyond our capacity to even imagine. "Do not worry. Do not be afraid. Be at peace." This is what He tells me.