As of official, my beloved grandfather passed away quietly and peacefully on 11 September 2008 at exactly 03:59AM. We received a call from the hospital and rushed down immediately and saw grandfather hooked up to this heartbeat machine and his breathing is so raspy and difficult. Through this one year in and out of hospital, he lost so much weight that I could barely recognise him at all, except for the name stated right above his hospital bed. Close to 02:30AM, we decided to head home and catch some sleep before going back the next day to visit him again, all the while hoping that his condition would improve, at least slightly.

But fate decided to dealt us a cruel blow by taking away his life at 03:59AM. My auntie said that she saw his breathing getting shallower and slower and when the machine gave out this straight line signal, which meant that his heart had stopped breathing, she immediately rushed out to the main hall and saw that the time was at 03:59AM. And roughly around that time, my mother and I were at home and we were sleeping in our own rooms and I heard this faint rapping on my bedroom door. Not that I was afraid to open it, I was simply too tired to get up. I kind of figured out that it could have been my grandfather's spirit coming to say goodbye for the last time and I was such a stupid fool for not giving extra thought to open the door and see what was behind it. If only I had, I could have the chance to say my last and final goodbye.

I remembered my grandfather, who although was old and walked rather slowly (my mother called that "bouncing"), but he was still roly poly and the smile on his wrinkled face will forever be etched in my mind until the day I die. Now, all that's left of him is skin and bones, a shadow of his former self. Those few months at the hospital has robbed him of his "chubbiness", his beautiful smile and the kind and gentle words he says. What remains now is an echo ringing in my head, trying to remember exactly how he sounded when he talk. I know I was my grandfather's favorite grandchild and I know that I refused to see and remember his as a skinny old man, veins hardened to the fact that he cannot straighten his legs when I saaw him in his coffin. His hands were full of sores that didn't quite healed, the coldness of his lifeless body as I gently and yet lovingly stroked his head, all the while clinging on to this last unfulfilled wish that he would open his eyes that tell us that all this is just a bad dream that we were all having.

I miss talking with him, hearing him tell me so much about life and I sincerely hope that grandmother would be here to fetch him safely over to the other side. I sincerely wish that there is an afterlife, so that I know I will still see him once again when my time is up. Holding on to this wrinkled but strong hand and feeling safe from anything, walking side by side and hearing him talk again, to see his gentle smile on his face creased with old age and wisdom. I don't want to let go of his hands, at least not yet. But, his time is up and I have to let him go, even if I feel unwilling to. I wanted to water his plants and feed his goldfish and have a plaster ready for him when he hurt his finger while repairing old watches he bought at the knick knack stalls in Chinatown.

Goodbye, grandfather. I will miss you dearly but I will always remember you as that chubby old man who bought me toys and bring me along for long walks around Tiong Bahru, looking at the world from your point of view. Goodbye.