It’s a totally white room. The ceiling was white. Walls were white. The bed was white. One thing that’s not white though was a computer screen with a straight red line, making a high-pitched beep sound. Except for that noise, everyone else in that room was quiet. Grandma sat on a chair, with little crystals rushing out of her eyes. Dad stood there straight, staring at the ground, speechless. Grandpa lay on the bed, closing his eyes with a gentle smile on his face.

The four-year-old me was there, too, hiding in mom’s arms, quietly observing the scene – this unprecedented quietness. I asked mom why grandma cried.

“Grandpa has left,” she whispered.

Mom’s words were right. I would never see my grandpa again. That tall grandpa, putting me on his wide shoulders, making the sky touchable to me, had left. That magical grandpa, with his big pockets full of candies, clearing up my gloomy little world, had left. That omniscient grandpa, patiently tackling all of my big questions and preserving my sense of imaginations, had left. That best grandpa, secretly adding lettuce into meatballs to cater to my picky diet, had left. That grandpa with uncomfortable lines in his palms, that grandpa with many fairy tales, that grandpa with forever smiles, that grandpa not good at drawing flowers, that grandpa combing my hair every morning, that grandpa buying me lollipops after piano classes, that grandpa I love foremost had left.

My grandpa had left.

No, he died.

Later, every day, I sat in front of the door to wait for his hugs again, but that day never arrived. He died, so peacefully that the day before his death, he sent me to school and kissed my forehead, like every other day. Mom told me when I could understand that my grandpa died of a cancer, which was too late to receive any treatment, but during those days when he was still present, I never found that he was sad about his departure. Whenever I came to him, I was welcomed by his warm hugs, his yummy food, his bedtime stories, his old bicycle, and many more details that I can hardly remember. He was around me every day, from the moment he woke me up to the moment he put me to bed. A smile hung on his face all the time, which is the same sweet one he had the moment he closed his eyes for the last time.

My grandpa had left, bravely.

But the feeling of his warm hands, the taste of his braised fish, the sound of his sneezes, the smell of his favorite tea, the look of his face, his singing of the happy birthday song, his teaching of how to count numbers, his reading of Snow White, his playing of the flute, his drawing of ugly princesses, his wide shoulders, his sunny smiles, his good night kisses, and his big hugs are always in my memory. They actually never leave.

My grandpa has never left.

The most precious treasure he gave me – memories – are already, and always here in my heart. In that entire four years’ companionship, many things happened, whether happy or sad, ordinary or unusual, fresh or distant, they are here, most of them are always here, in my heart. For some that still remain with the passing of time, I will make them stay even longer by wrapping them with my sincerest, deepest, and most fervent love.

The word goodbye is made up of not just bye but also good. The good comes from all those memories stored by us. The good comes as even we and those we love are physically apart, the love they give us is always here, in our heart, and we cover it with our love so that it never vanishes.

So, goodbye grandpa.