From the very first day after my birth, grandma had always been there. She was the one who embraced me and mom with care when dad had to work in another city. My childhood was a series of adventures with her. We went on a bus and three-year-old me would reserve a seat for grandma by saying sorry to other adults, which she immensely adored and mentioned everytime we saw each other. We chased through the stairs of our dusty yet cozy house in Phan Thiết where mom grew up, we shared expensive butter cookies that I didn't even know how she got, and I’d rest my head on her tummy listening to her reading some Tố Hữu’s poems.
Hectic schedules gradually kept our family’s members apart, with fewer dinners spent as a whole. I barely got to see my grandparents, once or twice in a week should be treasurable. And I thought time would be generous to us.
In fact, it did not.
I assumed myself to be calm, and unfortunately a bit emotionless on the outside (To disclaim, I AM a crybaby, so this even astonished myself). Despite coming to terms with my kins’ passing away quite quickly, I am fully conscious that my inner peace has become fragments, and my heart is crying in silence. What could I do? Worrying mom and dad with tears or just keeping it to myself and my wet pillow every night? I would opt for the latter, as my parents had been upset enough.
I’ve been thinking about what I should have done and what could have happened, but in the end, things would always follow the law of nature, let sorrows all settle and it’s endearment that lasts.
Please kindly view this clumsy piece of writing as my last dedication before you meet and hold grandpa’s hands once again.
White night, and a lot of good night kisses, from your granddaughter.
Written by Khanh Linh
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