The day I realized he was gone

Standing in his bedroom, I inhaled the remaining peppermint scent and listened to the sound of quietness.

I turned my wrist and looked at my watch, it was exactly 72 hours after he had been hospitalized and one hour and 6 minutes before the declaration of his death. DEATH!! I felt my heart was contracting so fast and I tried to suck in as much air into my lungs as possible. My head was spinning and his images in my mind had composed into a montage. I never thought so hard about him and the fact that I was at one point so close to him made me realize how much I had changed. His sudden death had shocked my family, especially my Dad who I saw crying on the balcony last night.

I had never been inside this room for so long because I disliked the peppermint incense sticks placed around the room. He once said it was a way to keep him to have smooth breath and clear mind. The tiny room was almost empty, apart from some furniture. A brown wooden closet stood beside the door, a few coats and jackets hung on the wall behind the door, a single bed placed against the wall and beside the bed, a small chest table where he placed his presbyopia glasses and a book which seemed as old as he was. However, it was the object behind the book that caught my eyes, a glossy silver picture frame that appeared to be out of place.

I picked it up and the photos inside made my eyes to swell with tears. I rubbed my fingers on the picture as my mind took me back to the time when the photo was taken.

It was the 25th birthday of my brother and my family decided to have dinner in a restaurant to celebrate. I was not particularly happy to go to this dinner because it was in the middle of exam week, but my mum insisted that I must attend. To protest my reluctance, I deliberately arrived half an hour later and chose to keep silence for the entire dinner.

“You could at least put a smile on your face”, my Dad started to mumble.

“Like I care.” I was determined to sulk all the way through.

“What did you say?” Dad raised his voice a little.

“I say I don’t want to be here, I have two exams this week and a paper to finish. It’s just a birthday.” My disgruntled voice caught a few curious eyes from the next table.

“Come on, sis. You just sit here for another 15 minutes then you can go.” My older brother jumped in and I knew that he showed just as much passion as I had, even though this whole thing was for him. He was all over his phone and kept on texting his girlfriend.

“Who said you can leave?”

“Well, if you listen...”

“PLEASEEEE!! Isn’t it possible for us to have one nice dinner?” Finally, Grandpa couldn’t stand the embarrassment and decided to intervene, a gesture he wouldn’t normally do.

“Dad, I am trying to teach them about manners.” Dad had transferred some of his anger to his own father.

“When we were little, our father never let us…” Grandpa could feel his son’s tension.

“DAD, I don’t want to hear about your youth, these are my children. I want to teach them my way. Beside, it wasn’t like you taught us anything when I was young and you were not even at the dinner table most of the time.”

Then there was a complete stillness and no one made a sound. The background chatting and clinking noise were the only indications that we were still in the restaurant. I lifted my eyes to look at Grandpa’s reaction. He lowered his head and played with his fingers, his forehead frowned as a sign of disapproval and non-compliance.

I rarely hear Dad say anything about his own father; in fact I rarely see them have real Dad and son conversations. Grandpa moved into our house after my Grandma’s death 9 year ago and Mum explained to me that Grandpa wanted to mend his relationship with Dad. At that time I didn’t understand what she meant and Mum wouldn’t tell me what happened, but gave me the usual phrase “I will tell you when you get older.” During the first few months it was different for all of us to live together especially for Dad. Grandpa always tried to make little talks here and there, but Dad seemed to insist not to break any walls. I remembered that during one Chinese New Year, our family wanted to travel to Thailand to spend the holiday. However, Grandpa didn’t want to come with us because of his constant back pains. Dad thought Grandpa was being inconsiderate and said the harshest things to him. He said, deliberately not facing him, “Someone just wouldn’t change from the past, he ruined my life but now my own family.” Grandpa did not respond to Dad’s bitterness, instead he gave my brother and me some money to spend during the trip. Then I noticed that the silence of Grandpa is his best treatment for the relationship between them. Grandpa later on picked up a daily routine in our house and we also got used to his company.

I used to love Grandpa being in the house and my brother and I would go with him to the park sometimes to play badminton and even learnt a couple of Tai Chi moves. However, as I grew older and school had become my first priority, I found myself no longer going out with Grandpa anywhere anymore. I locked myself in my room now and then so I wouldn’t have to deal with the lonely impressions my Grandpa was showing. I never really questioned my behavior because I thought he would be alright by himself. Beside, it was not like I was laying around and doing nothing.

The distance grew further and by time I didn’t remember when I had a conversation of more than ten sentences with him.

The birthday dinner went without much talk, and Mum wanted to break the ice and suggested to take a picture of the whole family. Dad refused initially, but gave in to avoid further awkwardness. I remembered I put on a fake smile and clearly I wasn’t the only one. Grandpa’s subtle smile made him look so peaceful and content and no one would ever know whether it was true or not.

My thoughts travelled back from the dinner night to this empty room. I held on to the silver frame and drew it close to my chest.

“What have I done? How I can do this to him?” I kept repeating these two sentences and my voice started to crack and tears flooded my blurry sights.

I weakly sat down on the floor and my hands were still holding the picture while the door had quietly opened. Dad came into the room and stood in front of me. I lifted my face towards him and saw he looked so pale and tired like he hadn’t slept for the last three nights.

“Dad?”

“You are not the only one.”

“What?”

“We all treated him like that and he didn’t deserve any of it”

“Dad, are you alright?”

“……”

Dad took the picture out of my hand and looked at it. He stared at the picture in silence and I knew his mind went back to that day as well. My hand slowly reached to his wrist and I uttered out of my dry throat:

“Dad, I am sorry.”