In 1949, as war pressed closer, life in the villages and camps grew tense. People often heard gunshots echoing from the next mountain—close enough to shake the air, close enough to remind everyone that they might need to run without warning. Grandmother later recalled moments when rice had just finished cooking, steam still rising from the pot, when someone suddenly shouted, “We have to go!” The pot was left behind, the meal uneaten, the fire still burning.
During those chaotic days, Grandfather withdrew with the army he served—an army that traveled with almost nothing. Each soldier carried only survival, duty, and faith. Grandfather left with his military unit, while his newlywed wife was assigned to a separate group of army family members evacuating behind them. Although separated, they were united by a single vow: to endure, to survive, and to find each other again.
Grandmother’s journey was especially harsh. Crossing rugged mountains and moving from shelter to shelter, she lost nearly everything she carried—including the small pieces of gold she had hoped to save for their new life. But she never lost her courage or the hope of reuniting with her husband.
After months of uncertainty, both Grandfather and Grandmother eventually arrived in Taiwan, where they reunited and rebuilt their lives on unfamiliar soil. In Taiwan, Grandfather worked tirelessly while Grandmother kept the household steady. The dream he could not pursue himself—education—he entrusted to his three sons. He often said,
“Knowledge is the best legacy I can leave you.”
The brothers honored his hope; one later earned a doctorate. On that day, Grandfather’s smile shone as brightly as the morning sun.
In 1980, the eldest son immigrated to the United States, opening a new chapter in the family’s story. Grandfather and Grandmother were reluctant to see him leave, yet deeply proud of the path he chose.
On March 25, 1995, Grandfather passed away, and the family lost its steadfast guardian.
Grandmother carried Grandfather’s love forward with gentle strength. For many years she flew across the Pacific to visit her eldest son, nurturing her American grandchildren with the same warmth she once gave her three boys—cooking hot soup, preparing familiar Taiwanese dishes, folding clothes, and packing schoolbags with quiet tenderness. Her grandchildren often said, “When Grandma comes, our American home feels a little more like Taiwan.”
But time changes every story. By 2019, Grandmother was too old to travel. The three brothers decided together to purchase the Trinity Farmhouse—a comfortable home where she could rest, be cared for, and remain surrounded by family. In that quiet setting, her final years were filled with companionship and dignity. She passed away peacefully on June 4, 2022, leaving behind a great legacy of love.
Yet Grandfather’s wish and Grandmother’s devotion did not fade with time. Grandfather had once hoped there would be a doctor in the family—someone who could use knowledge and kindness to illuminate the world. Many years later, his granddaughter fulfilled that hope.
On November 22, 2025, wearing a pure white wedding dress, she stepped into a new chapter of her life surrounded by family and friends. At the reception, her friends surprised her with a lively DJ dance performance. Lights, laughter, and music intertwined to create a warm celebration.
In that moment, it felt as though our grandparents were standing together in the glow of the festivities—he marching south with his unit; she fleeing over mountains with gunshots echoing behind her and rice left uneaten; and their descendants, beneath a broader and brighter sky, carrying forward the family’s hope.
The winds of freedom were carried by them; the light of continuity is what guides us forward.