Grandma,

This week it’ll be five years since you passed away.

To this day, I’m still haunted by my last memory of you: lying on the hospital bed with a ventilator. They say people who are in a comatose state like what you were in are still able to hear words that are said to them. Dad told me if there was anything I wanted to tell you, that would be a good time to say it. But I just stood there, shrugging and shaking my head no.

“I don’t know what to say.”

Those sad, pathetic words. Knowing that would be the last time I’d ever see you alive, those were the only words I could muster.

Well, now I’m going to at least try to give you all the words that you deserved.

You were the closest I ever had to a mother. You always lovingly called me by my Korean name, Kang-Jin, even though it embarrassed me — isn’t that what a mother is supposed to do, lovingly embarrass their kid? Even though we couldn’t talk much because of the language barrier, you were my best friend growing up. Dad had to work a lot, Mom was mentally ill, I was an only child. You took the reigns for everything going on at home.

You cooked meals when you could, you did laundry, you cleaned the house, you did shopping, you took me to school and picked me up, you took Mom out on drives for hours whenever she was too loud or starting to get violent, you took me to the park and played games with me — and I’m sure this still doesn’t cover everything you did for, not only me, but our entire family.

You were my number one fan for anything and everything I did. You came to any play that I had a part in, always bragging to your church friends that I had talent like a movie star. You made sure to come to every sporting event I ever competed in, absolutely convinced that I had superstar talent and that I was the best player in any game. You thought of me like the next Einstein, always beaming with pride at any academic achievement I had no matter how small it was.

I never thanked you for any of this.

I never even thought about any of these things you did for me and for the rest of the family until you were already gone.

I’ll never forget the night a few weeks after you passed away when the emotions finally hit me. I’ll never forget coming downstairs to the kitchen to look for something to eat, turning the corner and halfway through calling for you before I came to an abrupt stop. I was staring into an empty, lonely kitchen that would never again smell of the wonderful food that you would make or that would never again echo with your voice calling me down to eat.

I’ll never forget how you looked forward to seeing me drive. I’ll never forget how you always spoke so excitedly of one day getting to see me graduate from high school and college. I’ll never forget how much you dreamed of one day seeing me getting married.

I’ll never forget any of that, and I’ll never get over the fact that you didn’t get to witness any of those things.

I’ll never forget how, even as you were suffering through the ulcers that the cancer had caused, all you could say when you saw me was, “Poor Kang-Jin, what’s going to happen to you if I’m gone?”

I’m almost 21 now. College has been going well. I’m certainly not the best student on campus, but I know you would’ve believed that no one could compare to your little grandson. Oregon is beautiful — you would’ve loved the hiking trails here. I have great friends who look out for me and keep me company, and Dad has always done the same.

I’ve tried to be kind and patient with Mom, but I know I fail at it every single day. I’m trying to be better. I’m trying to be everything you thought I was, to be worth all the sacrifices you made for me and the effort that you gave for me. I hope if you saw me today, you’d be the proudest you’d ever been.

I miss you every single day Grandma. What I wouldn’t give to have you back for a moment to say all these words to you in person, to tell you all these things and more. But, I’m sure you’ll get the message.

Sincerely,

Your grandson Kang-Jin