After a year, I still carry the scars from my grandfather's death. So many people tell me that I should be rejoicing that he is in a better place and/or that I shouldn't linger because everyone dies. Yes, everyone dies. It's been a year since my grandfather passed away, and two years since my uncle passed away. I know the impact the death of someone close has on family because it happened twice only a year apart. I watched my mother cry uncontrollably after hearing about her older brother and I vividly remember my own stoic response when I heard the news. As awful as it sounds, my uncle's death did not shake the earth for me. I consoled my mother during mass that night, and later at the wake, I took care of everything while everyone else prayed for God to have mercy on his soul. Yet, I never cried. I don't know if I was in shock or disbelief but I didn't cry over my uncle's death until a year later when I was packing for Korea. I was thinking about how I get to see my family after being absent from their lives for over 10 years, when I realized I wouldn't be able to see my uncle. Honestly, I cried more over the fact that I had so little time with such a great man than his death. I grew up listening to my mom telling me stories from her childhood with my uncle, those were always my favorite. I wasn't surprised when he passed away. My uncle had been sick all his life and went to the hospital 3 times a day for dialysis. For him, passing away in his sleep was the least amount of pain he felt all of his life He was in his late 40s, a father of 3, a brother to 2, and an only son. His death was fleeting only brought back into my memory whenever he's mentioned. Everyone dies, including family and loved ones.
My grandfather was diagnosed with cancer over a year ago, but they discovered it too late and he opted out of treatment. The doctor told him that he had 6 months at most. This was our reason for going to Korea. Before we left, my mom pulled me aside to tell me to prepare myself for the worst, that my grandfather was in pretty bad condition since he denied chemotherapy. I kept thinking, "Whats the worst that could happen?" Apparently, my optimism for the situation ended up screwing me over when I got there. We landed in Incheon around 3 AM. It was foggy, humid, and dark. I should have known that scary weather is a precursor to something bad happening. I woke up the next morning, bright and early, excited to see my grandparents. But the person I met that morning was a shell of someone I used to know. He was pale, thin, and hunched over in pain. It was heartbreaking to see someone so strong defeated by an illness. There wasn't much I could do, he just sat there staring away at the tv. To this day, I wonder if he noticed that I was there that morning, that I sat next to him, that I held his hand, that I hugged him. Maybe, maybe not. That afternoon, he was hospitalized for liver failure. This was the beginning of the worst memory of my life. For the few days I spent in Incheon, I was in the hospital tending to my grandfather, hoping for a miracle, for anything. The next day, his kidneys started to shut down. The doctor put in an iv and left. The whole time, he kept asking for yogorute (a korean yogurt drink and my grandfather's favorite). He asked for days and I said no for days. His body could no longer process beverages or food, so we had to keep denying his last request. "I'm so thirsty..." such a simple phrase in everyday life...yet, to me, it means so much more. I couldn't even fulfill a request as simple as a drink. A couple days later, we left for Seoul and I never went back. I couldn't bare walking into that room again, having to watch someone I love fade away. So in the end, I never said good-bye. I never told him how much I love him. I never told him how much I missed him. I never told him how much he means to him. I never thanked him for all that he's done for me. I never got to say good-bye. It's these things that haunt a person.
A month later, we got a phone call from Korea. My grandfather passed away. I locked myself away and cried the rest of the day. I cried at mass, I cried the wake, and I cried myself to sleep. I had nightmares for month and woke up gasping for air and tears staining my pillow. It was the same hospital scenes replaying in my sleep, over and over and over again. "I'm so thirsty...Why do you keep saying no?" I couldn't help but think...did he hate me when he passed away? Was the last memory he held of me of the one saying no? Did he pass away miserable? Did he die thinking we abandon him...that I abandoned him...?
It's been a year and I still haven't gotten over it.