One Saturday afternoon two months ago, I went back home for a short break. After dinner, Father instructed me to make a video call to Grandpa, who had been bedridden for months. His condition was deteriorating rapidly.

The call got through and Grandpa’s feeble voice came over. It so happened that the connection was far from stable because Grandpa’s bed was some distance from the Wi-Fi router in his house. Grandpa had trouble hearing me clearly, so he asked me to re-call him the next day. I said goodbye and hung up.

In the middle of the night, I was roused from sound sleep by panicky voices. It was my father and sister talking agitatedly there. Father was on the phone conversing with Mother, who was already back in our hometown with our grandparents. He was close to tears. Sister anxiously asked Father what had happened. After he was done with the talk on the phone, he announced, eyes glistening, that my dear grandpa had passed away that very night. Hearing the news, my sister and I burst into tears. I was incredulous.

At dawn, Father, who started to pack up for the trip back to our hometown, asked me if I would join them on the trip. I found myself trapped in a dilemma. On the one hand, Grandpa is among my closest kin. He had looked after me for years when I was in primary school. Attending his funeral would allow me to pay my last respects. On the other, I was doing the last year of high school. A critical exam was scheduled to take place on the very day the funeral was conducted. In the end, I explained about my problem and Father was understanding. Thus I stayed behind in the city and continued school.

The day the burial service was going on back in our hometown, I sat the exam at the school. During lunch break, I called Mother up. In the call, I was about to express my condolences when I choked with grief. Comforting me, Mother told me to take it easy. “It is the thought that counts,” Mum went. “The funeral has been done.” Mother was sadder than me because she had lost her dad.

It has been about two months since my grandpa left us. Although my family understood my choice not to attend the funeral, missing it has left a gaping hole in my heart. I still rue the decision. What is done cannot be undone. The only thing I can do to make up for it is go and accompany Grandma more when I am free from school.