“;Grandma died last night.”; Those words came plainly yet gently from my mom—about her mom. Although Grandma's death was expected, hearing the news made my heart sink.

My grandmother Myrtle Kong was 95 years old. Not many people live to that age, but then again, Grandma was one of a kind. She was not perfect. But her imperfections and the hardscrabble life she lived made her the Grandma I adored.

She was born on Maui in 1913. Married to a much older man (her choice, she once emphasized to me), she had five kids and was widowed by her mid-20s. I once asked Grandma why, as a teenager, she chose to marry a man twice her age. “;He told me I was the prettiest girl,”; she said candidly.

But life for this pretty country girl was not easy. Grandma loved her family and worked hard to raise her kids. Later, she put as much effort into caring for (and spoiling) her grandkids. When I was 16 and in the midst of a crisis that included a suicide attempt, Grandma came to stay with me. She took care of me while my parents were at work, serving up meals and words of wisdom.

I remember sitting on the sofa with her as she gave me stark advice on boyfriends. I was shocked to discover Grandma knew about condoms—old people weren't supposed to know those things. Grandma was without guile. She was honest and straightforward. No shibai.

  I loved my Grandma's laugh. It was full-bodied, straight from the gut and unashamed. I remember walking up the driveway to my mom's house and hearing Grandma with her siblings and assorted cousins talking at full volume the way Chinese people talk.

They spoke loudly about their aches and pains but always found things to laugh about. Myrtle was the go-to grandma for home-style Chinese food. She made huge pots of her famous stuffed pork hash—some with tofu, some with bittermelon for the more adventurous eaters. Feeding the multitudes was Grandma's way of showing love. It truly made her happy.

When Grandma turned 90, we had a birthday bash for her. She arrived, silver hair in a glamorous upsweep and wearing a silken red cheongsam, looking amazing. The highlight was watching my 90-year-old grandma and my 70-year-old mom dance hula together. I was in awe and hoped genetics would treat me as kindly as it did these two vibrant women.

The last few years were hard. Health problems became a daily challenge. When Grandma came to visit my mom, I made sure I took my kids to visit their “;Tai tai”; (great-grandma). We spent afternoons playing mah-jongg, and for those few hours, I think Grandma forgot her pain. The click-clack of the tiles and outbursts of “;poong!”; and “;chow!”; filled the air. Seeing her smile as she declared a victorious “;mah-jongg!”; was so sweet.

My Grandma has left a legacy of strength, laughter, forgiveness and love. That is something no one can take from me. And I hope it is something I can give my children.