My grandpa.

My grandpa was a good man. In fact, he was an amazing man. He worked hard to support his kids, all 9 of them. He was a very frugal man, despite the fact that he wasn't poor. The money he saved on himself, he gave unconditionally to his kids, and his grandkids. Even in his old age, he still doles out money secretly to my parents for our daily expenses.

He was so hard on himself. I remember that he would always wear tattered and torn singlets and old shorts, even though we bought him new clothes and constantly nagged at him to wear them. He was extremely stubborn, and would ride on his bike even though my parents told him time after time that it's dangerous for someone his age. And true enough, he had a couple of nasty falls, and yet, he refused to stop riding his bike.

He was a very strict and stern man, and as kids, we were so afraid of him that we would try not to eat dinner the same time he does, so that we can avoid sitting at the table with him. He seldom smiles, and the only times I've seen him smile was during chinese new year, when all his children are around him.

I didn't know when it started. When he started forgetting little things, or when he started having difficulty with daily activities. The doctor diagnosed him with senile dementia, and subsequently he had a stroke that landed him in hospital.

I remember it was the week before I had to go back after my summer break to Michigan for my second year. I remember visiting him in hospital, and looking at him at his bedside. The intimidating and authoritative grandpa that I was so used to, looked so... frail and weak in that hospital bed. I remember my dad gently nudging him from his sleep, and gently telling him that his granddaughter was here to see him. I remember him opening his eyes briefly, and I remember him holding my hand in his. And then he smiled. It was a smile that I've never seen on his face before. It was a very content, a very blissful smile that I can't simply put to words.

I remember walking to the window with my sister, and pretending to look out of the window. I remember the hot tears streaming down both our faces. I remember the pain written all across our faces.

And that was the last time I saw him alive. He passed away one morning, after asking to see all his children and grandchildren. He passed away with all of them by his side, everyone but me. And my parents kept it from me. I found out the worst possible way, when my cousin (who was studying in berkeley at that time) told me online that he was sorry to hear about grandpa. I remember yelling over the phone, while sobbing hysterically at my parents. I remember the guilt I felt, not being there for him.

And I still feel it, even up to this day. I wished I've done more for him.

I regret not sitting at dinner with him more. I still can remember his lonely silhouette at the dinner table, eating his porridge slowly with leftovers from the night before that he insists on keeping.
I wished I could have the ability to give him a better life at that time.
I wished I could have made him a little happier.
I regret not telling him how much I love him......

It's been five years now, but the pain still feels so fresh in my heart.
I can't forget his voice, and his words. They still resound strongly in my mind......

I'm sorry Grandpa. I love you, and I hope that somehow, you know.

I miss you.