Life, Death, and all the years and decades in between.

Death came a-knocking. And Ong Noi left this world last Friday.

The following words may sound absolutely terrible to some of you, but it really isn't:

I am so glad that he is no longer suffering.



My parents, wanting me to thoroughly enjoy my time meeting the Manfriend's family and friends in Ohio this past weekend, did not tell me of my grandfather's passing until late last night. Your father did not want you to be sad, my mother tearfully explained through the phone.

And I, extremely touched, yet dispirited all at the same time, tried thanking her through one too many hiccups and sobs.

I cried and I still cry because I feel immense amounts of guilt and regret for not being able to visit him on that side of the world a lot sooner, while he was still alive. Now I only have memories to hold on to, and even they are fading.

Fading.

Fading away, entirely way too fast...

Aging, and death, can terrify the most secure of persons -- and after the deluge of emotions passed, I started to wonder how my grandfather must have felt or thought during his last moments on Earth.

They say that your life flashes by you in the few seconds you have left before you die -- but in the case of my grandfather, who was terminally ill with cancer for months before his death, I like to think that his best life moments were displayed before him in a great, big puzzle, pieced together by perfect little photographs, with familiar voices, far-off sounds, and favorite melodies playing in the background.

He was an old man and an old soul at 82, but he smiled often, always so happy and cheerful, a little child at heart.

He cried, he laughed. He loved, he lost, he left behind. He succeeded, he failed. Then he tried, and kept on trying and he picked himself up once again. He scrounged for dollars and then he made millions. He saw the world, he shared himself deeply and honestly.

My heart has been filled with aching sadness all day today. But every single time I feel it swell up, I remind myself to take comfort in the fact that he is no longer in pain; no longer lying there, with nothing else to do but wait for Death to come.

RIP, Ong Noi. I know you are in a better place now. I hope you were able to read, or have someone read, my letter to you.

I love you and miss you dearly.