Can you love someone without really knowing them? I don’t know who my great-grandmother was besides her being my great-grandmother. I don’t think she knew me well either, even though I spent many summers and winters in her house in the countryside where she cared for me when my parents were busy. After all, she was an illiterate farmer who grew up in the time of foot-binding. I grew up in modern China after the economic reform and was told I could be whatever I wanted to be as a woman. We probably spoke fewer than a hundred sentences when she was still alive. I had no idea what she liked to do because she spent most of her time downstairs in the living room doing house chores, while I stayed upstairs doing my homework.

But I know she loved me. I loved hearing her soft footsteps as she climbed up the narrow wooden stairs. As soon as I heard that, I knew she was coming up with a bottle of hot water to warm my fingers. The winters in the countryside were cold and her house had no heat. She would put the bottle between my hands, smile at me and stroke my head, then leave without saying a word.

When she turned 83, her memories deteriorated so much that sometimes she couldn’t recognize members of our family. When I visited her during a summer vacation, I brought her some lychees. However, she wouldn’t eat them no matter how much I encouraged her or even tried to trick her into eating them. “I want to save them for my great-granddaughter,” she finally explained. “This is her favorite fruit.” Every time I think of that day and the look on her face, my heart is filled with warmth and amazement at how much we are capable of loving each other while being, on some other level, practically a stranger.