Lee Jackson

I’ve always known life was short, but that fact never hit me as hard as it did yesterday. I was on the train home when I received a text from my mom – “Grandpa was just found unconscious in his apartment. Pray.”

My grandpa, Lee Jackson, was 86 – about to turn 87, but anyone who saw him would assume he was much younger. Always vibrant, full of entrepreneurial ideas and ambition, he was a man that tackled every obstacle the world threw at him and came out on top. This constant drive made him one of the hardest workers I knew.

My grandpa started out as a beggar on the streets of Shanghai and ended up a successful real estate mogul in New York City. On the side, he ran an employment agency that helped immigrants find jobs. At family gatherings, he gave generous gifts to each of his grandchildren (there are 17 of us). I remember not knowing how to feel about him as a child – observing the small, thin man who always wore an immaculate suit (he slept in it too) and never spoke much, but closely observed the room around him.

His eyes were what got me. Bright, darting, sharp eyes that missed nothing. Grandpa had a deadpan sense of humor. While his grasp of English wasn’t the strongest, his comedic timing and dry, insightful remarks spurred countless nights of laughter.

We had dinner with my grandparents once a month, making the hour-long drive into Manhattan and dining on sushi or pho or at one of the underground Chinese restaurants my grandpa favored. He remained reserved, clutching his cup of tea and letting my bubbly grandma do the talking. However, when he did speak, he shared his opinions passionately. He talked about his ideas to build a bus line similar to Greyhound, realizing the lucrative potential it had. He loved playing poker and mahjong and appreciated the quick mind and entrepreneurial instinct in my brother Chris.

Each time we finished dinner, grandpa asked if anyone wanted ice cream. If one person said yes, he immediately headed to the Chinatown Ice Cream factory and bought a 5 gallon container of whatever flavor they had — usually lychee, red bean, or vanilla. Grandpa lugged the heavy container back to his apartment and scooped out bowls for each of us. Although we’d barely scrape the surface, he always bought at least 5 gallons, making sure there was more than enough for everyone.

My grandpa is the reason my family carries the last name Jackson. Growing up, I can’t count the number of times people questioned it. Was I adopted? There must be some mistake. When my grandpa moved from China, immigration officers switched his name by accident. His English name was Jackson Lee. However, they received surnames first, and thought he meant “Jackson, Lee.” That fateful day labelled the Jackson dynasty forever.

Grandpa never seemed to age. He was convinced he would live forever, so convinced that I nearly believed him. Although he was 86, his spirit was that of a 20-year old, with a hundred more ideas to change the world, and he refused to rest until those ideas became reality. He never retired, arguing that there was too much left to do. When I saw him at Thanksgiving, his hair was still black, his skin smooth from the oil he applied religiously, and his suit looked just as immaculate as ever. There was no warning.

I got off the train as my mom’s silver minivan pulled into the parking lot. “How’s grandpa? Have you heard anything?”

She looked at me with quiet eyes and shook her head, not pulling the car into gear although we were blocking traffic. “Grandpa’s gone.”

It didn’t hit me like a train because I refused to believe it at first. Rather, it came like a wave, washing over me again and again and again, each time etching its way deeper into my mind and my reality. My first thought was that grandpa wasn’t a Christian and that broke my heart. My second thought was for my grandma. She was at work when his assistant found his body in their apartment. She didn’t get to say goodbye. My third thought was for my father – he had just lost his dad. I couldn’t imagine that.

For the rest of the day, I couldn’t help but contemplate the brevity of life. It’s these moments that put everything into perspective, reminding us how delicate and uncertain the future is. All we have is the present. I was inspired to live more purposefully, infusing meaning into each daily encounter, and not hesitating to tell the people I love how much they mean to me while I still can.

My grandpa was fiercely resilient, wise, capable, and generous. In terms of success, there is no greater story. I can only hope to be as dedicated and relentless as he was.

Rest in Peace, Grandpa. We love you.