Dear Grandpa,

I wish I hurt more when you died. I vividly remember my dad quickly shushing us as he picked up the phone. When I heard the news my heart dropped to my feet and my mind went blank. And then slowly, I started to cry. I cried for my mom, who had already been broken into tiny little pieces when her mother had died just 5 years earlier. I cried for my siblings, who never really had even held a proper conversation with him due to the language barrier. I cried for my aunt, who found my grandpa slumped over the bed 2 days after he passed. And most of all, I cried in self-hatred, because when I heard the words “Grandpa's dead”, I couldn’t even think of why I wanted to cry for myself.

The pain of losing a family member you're extremely close to can be described as one of the worst things to ever experience. But I think the pain of losing you - the pain of losing a family member I wish I was close to -  is a different kind of pain. I love you more than words could describe, yet every time I think of you, I feel empty. Instead of being able to reminisce on the happy memories I share with you, I'm lost because no matter how hard I try, I just can't seem to remember any.  I think the absence of fond memories with you is so painful because I don't have a memory to stick a label of love for you on (like in an “I love you and this memory is proof why” kinda way). Every day I'm haunted by what we could've been. And what we'll never be able to be.

And so, even the simplest memories with you I’ve learned to hold dear to my heart. I remember waking up once a year in your California home, where I would trudge downstairs, and every day you would make me breakfast - just a cut-up grapefruit and a bowl of misugaru. (a Korean multigrain powder mixed with milk). We would eat in silence, and yet this tiny little action, this tiny little routine, is something that has stuck with me all this time. 

Even though I miss you so so much, these stupid insignificant memories, my only proof that you were ever even here, bring me so much joy because it just makes me smile at the thought of what we could've been and the relationship I know we would've had. We would've had silly little inside jokes, more stupid little memories, and more happy experiences. But we didn't. And I think that's okay. Because in a way I'd like to think that this was your final way to protect me from the hurt.  

Love, 
Your Granddaughter