"Grandma, see you next thanksgiving day," said my big sister.

"Oh, yes, and don’t forget to take some Kimchi. It’s over at the front door. Oh, do you guys want some potatoes, too?"

"It’s okay mom, we’ve got plenty," my father replied rapidly as if it was huge baggage to take home.

Our family was ready to leave, and we approached to her to say goodbye.

My grandma and grandpa had lived in the same house for fifty years. It was their permanent residence and it seemed like they were going to live there even after they passed away. However, the ancient house did not seem to be sturdy enough for an old couple to reside in. It made me sad and depressed thinking, "How could they have lived in a place like this for such a long time?"

She held our hands, feeling warmer than other visits; suddenly she told us unlike other times when we would visit saying, "I know this is my last time seeing you all." I first did not understand what she meant. The truth was, I did not want to believe what she was saying. I was afraid if would be true. When I held her hand and gazed at her wet eyes, I knew how sincere she was. She had never been like this. Her unpredictable behavior swept my heart with the fear that this really could be my last time seeing her. She said again, "This is the last time!"

The moment she held my hand and cried, I could imagine how it would hurt to lose my family and kids in the future. I could also imagine the emotions I would feel if I were about to die. The feeling of losing everything and knowing that everything was over. I could imagine how sorrowful she was, and how regretful she was. I could understand her sorrow came from not the fact that she was going to die but that she would not be able to see us anymore, and she would not remember us anymore. I reached the verge of break, and I could not hold my tears down. I cried and told her, "Please, don’t say that grandma, please. You’re not going to die!"

Looking into her eyes, I remembered when she was happy that I was born. My grandma thought her third son, my father, and his wife would not have a son after having three daughters in a row. Thus ever since I was born, I was a special grandson among other grandchildren. Reminiscing how she loved me and cared about me, I felt so sad for my grandma, and felt it was not her time to go yet.

The fact that she was saying she was going to die, and the emotions I felt with her made me fear of my destiny. The ride home was wet and blurry by the silent rain in my eyes.

Not long after the day we visited grandma, we were informed that her hipbone was broken. She had slipped from the staircase and fractured her bone. One of my uncles said when someone got to her house, there was a bottle of pesticides spilled all over the floor around grandma. She was in so much physical and emotional pain of loneliness that she was going to attempt suicide by drinking the pesticide. I can see her trying to drink the chemical but dropping it when she saw her old and weak husband, grandpa, sleeping lonely; I can draw in my mind her crying right that moment staring at my grandpa, "Hun, I want to see my sons." I think until this day that one of my uncles of my father should have taken care of her during that time.

My father and I went to the hospital. I saw her lying in bed but had no idea whether she was asleep or not. At that time, I thought it was better to just let her rest and not bother her.

Next morning, on the way to home, leaving early because of an upcoming exam, worn out by the previous sleepless night, and encumbered by her injury, my mind was in chaos. I prayed to God "Please keep her with you." Suddenly, my father’s cell phone rang.

"Hello. Oh…., Okay…, thanks." My father’s face did not look normal. At that moment I realized what had happened, and felt that call was from God telling me, "Boy, it’s bit late."

In the car, I kept regretting, thinking and mumbling, "I should have held her hand. I should have woken her up and showed her my face. I should have said, ‘I’m with you. You’re going to live because I want to see you more and you want to see me more.’" Recalling the moment I left, and watching her lying in bed looking lonely, the sense of guilt overwhelmed me. I could have saved her. I could have made her live a little bit longer. I could have given her purpose to live.

Our family did not predict that she would die the next day. There was nothing we could think other than she eventually let go of her last string of will to live, overcome by the fear of destiny to be left alone.

Even though it has been three years, the images of her holding my hands and my heart are vivid. I can still feel the fear she had of her death and it sometimes makes my heart pound immensely. Remembering her sad wet eyes still hurts my heart, and I still remember her hand at her side.