Regrets

As I sat in his room and listened to him talk in a language that I was no master of, I could still pick up bits and pieces of words to comprehend what he was saying. My other senses heightened as my lingual skills was impaired for I do not speak their tongue. I noticed his short raspy breath as he spoke of his condition. I noticed the tremors in his feet as he tried to stretch the aging muscles of his legs. I noticed his discomfort as he tried to breathe and talk at the same time. I noticed the deterioration of a patriarch who once stood tall and straight right to this ripe old age of his.

And I can't help but feel more than a pang of regret for not having spent enough hours with my late grandfather in his last remaining months. In certain ways, they were more similar than I realised for they had pride, were honorable in their own ways and was very much respected within their own community. I then felt a sense of shame for the lack of my own actions where my grandfather was concerned. I have always favoured him compared to my grandmother; he was cheerful with his grandchildren, reasonable with his children, brilliant with tales of his earlier days, never succumbed to the sins of manhood (that I am aware of), generous with the less fortunate and always had the fridge stocked with ice-cream.

I cried hard at his funeral for even though he has always had his patch of white hair as far as I can remember, wearing his grey pants and collared tee or striped PJs, I never thought much of when he will leave us. But when he did, the sight of his body still shocked me and the wave of sadness never left us throughout the entire 5 days.

Memories of him filled my mind and heart over the weekend. May God bless his kind soul.