Today, I lost my grandfather.
As far as I understand, he lived an eventful life. Born in 1934 to a Vietnamese landowner family, he survived the country’s two major wars: against the French and then against the Americans. Despite the difficulties, he successfully raised two children - my dad and my aunt - who themselves have become grandparents! He enjoyed having four grandchildren (including myself) and three great-grandchildren.
Amidst the declining of his health and surging of his dementia, he was able to meet my 10 months old son, to hold him in his shivering arms, and to tell him jokes he was too young to understand. He passed at the ripe 90 years old.
I cried, perhaps as my way of bidding him goodbye. But instead of feeling sad, I feel relieved for him. His last few weeks have been tough. He became so frail that he had to be attached to tens of machines to lengthen his life. When my parents told me his story in the hospital, I told them if I had been in his shoes, I would have opted to detach all the machines so that I could go peacefully. I had a weird thought that each of the machines attaching to keep my grandfather alive must have come with hundreds of patents and scientific discoveries, but for what reason; I surely do not want them attached to me when my day comes.
But now my grandfather’s misery ends. He will be dearly missed by our family. Ever since I was a little boy, people have told me that I look like my grandfather much more than I do my dad. So he will be remembered in my shape and look, at least for another generation.
I do not know my grandfather’s religious belief (for what it’s worth, he fervently supported the Vietnamese Communist Party, so he probably rejects religions), but mine says there is life after death. If that is true, I hope he is happy where he comes.
Goodbye, grandpa.