Since school advanced toward the end, I was joyful and satisfied. Summer vacation meant no more stresses of tests, assignments, and projects. Breaking the peaceful silence was the fateful phone call. My grandfather who had been in and out of the hospital recently had turned for the worst. The phone call progressed about my grandfather’s hopeless conditions. I could not help, but overhear that it was imperative for me to attend the funeral in Korea. Despite the sweltering heat in the house, I felt a shiver up my spine. When my mom heavily walked out from her room with swollen eyes, I felt the mood was solemn.
Uncertain as to how long my grandpa could hold on, we did not know how to respond swiftly and precisely. Unlike others, I found myself not wanting to go. Certainly, it was not because I did not care or love him less. Few days later, dad contacted us again with a message that grandpa had passed away. Remembering that moment, I was overwhelmed with sheer, stunning shock. The thought of not wanting to go pierced my own conscience. The truth was just too terrifying.
Lacking maturity, I was not bold enough to face death especially my beloved grandfather. Told by the adults there was no longer necessary for me to make a trip, I was relieved. Guilt followed. And my tears burst.