Grandma Brown would cook her rice soft, buttery, salty and different from my mother's rice. It was a gluttonous delicacy that tasted like a dream—too good to be true.

My Korean mother and I would eat rice daily. Boiled and sticky, her rice was the foundation of each meal. Grandma Brown, on the other hand, would make it with a teaspoon of salt and a pat of butter, making all the world of a difference. Her rice was a metaphor for her personality—she made everything a bit better, kinder, softer, saltier and more of a treat. 

My father was stationed in Seoul, South Korea during the Vietnam War. He met my mother in December in Seoul, married her in July, and had my older sister with her in September. A few months after her birth, my mother and sister made the journey to the United States on a commercial plane without my father. My mother spoke no English. She was presented an orange on the flight and did not know what it was or what to do with it.

When my mother arrived in the United States, she stayed with my father's parents in Mansfield, Ohio, while she waited for her husband to arrive. She felt isolated as a new mother in a foreign country where she did not speak the language. In an attempt to please her new in-laws, she silently cooked and cleaned for them. It was difficult for them to accept her. The language and racial barrier between my mother and her new country was never easy to overcome.

Grandma Brown entered our lives because she was the mother of my father's childhood best friend. She had become quite close with my father while they worked together at a root beer stand while he was in high school. Upon meeting my mother in the United States, she put herself in the shoes of a woman who had arrived to a new country, and understood her fears. My mother recalls the first kind gesture from Grandma Brown—the first gesture that she received after arriving to the United States. Grandma Brown took her to the store to buy rice. This act connected my mother with a familiar piece of her culture and touched her deeply. With no blood relation, she became one of the most important people in my life and my Grandma.

 I was born a year after my mother arrived to the United States, and my Grandma was a huge part of my life as I grew up. She read to us, cooked with us, and provided us warmth and comfort. I recall the warmth of sitting with my head in her lap while she lightly touched my back - her gentleness was something that I took for granted. When I became a parent myself, I realized how deeply she affected me. Her life was impressive and was a testament to her strength and love. She decided to become a beautician and open her own hair salon after she retired from working at a doctor's office, following her dreams.

 When Grandma's husband died, whom she loved very much, she continued to carry herself with her head held high despite her grief. Her strength was like a pillar of granite. Grandma Brown remarried someone who was 20 years younger than her who I believe loved her, but mismanaged their finances and left the picture when she fell ill. Nothing was ideal when she passed away—I lived in Ohio, and she lived in Florida. I could not see her as often as I used to, and her blood-related family handled her final care.

 I called her everyday when I was driving home from work, and one day, she said that she was really, really tired. I flew to Ohio the next day. She gave me the pot that she used to cook rice with, complete with a homemade replaced handle that Grandpa Brown had crafted. She passed away soon after.

 There are certain small things that elders teach us. They don’t even try. Grandma Brown must have had her own demons, but her actions showed her strength and kind nature. I am grateful to have had such a loving example of a human to think about every day, with everything that I do. I hope that I can instill a tiny fraction of her kindness, empathy and gentleness in my kids.

 I miss her and think about her everyday.