A Familial Stranger

In the 1980s, following the Khmer Rouge Genocide, my grandma Simone and my mother Sara were living in separate refugee camps in Thailand— unaware the other was living. After my grandma was sponsored to live in Upstate New York, she heard from extended family that my mom survived, and arranged for them to be reunited.

Once in America, my mother couldn’t recognize my grandma at the airport, having been separated since she was five-years-old. While my mom went through school, they navigated a new life and culture as familial strangers. Their relationship eventually paused when my mom refused a traditional arranged marriage, running away to Rhode Island the night before her wedding. The next day, my grandma and my American step-grandfather were married instead.

After three years, their relationship healed when my mom got engaged to my American father. To this day, my grandma lives in Upstate New York with my step-grandpa, who I recently learned is abusive towards her. Despite being disowned by his family, he refuses to move with her to Rhode Island and let her be with my mom. Thus, their home has become a palpable cage, stale from the air of old age, and mental and physical illness. This summer, I visited my grandma for the first time since I was fourteen— observing her, the home, and her use of gardening as an escape.