Granddad

Four years ago my granddad passed away.

I never really had a good relationship with him, that's what makes me feel so sorry, it was my only grandpa. Maybe it's because we couldn't communicate with each other very well because of different languages. I couldn't speak Vietnamese very well, he couldn't speak Dutch like I did.

The fail of communication doesn't take away the missing, perhaps it lets me miss him more. Because by now I could never tell him what I thought, what I wanted to tell a grandpa. I could never listen to his stories about when he was young, and I could never tell him about my life.

One thing I can remember about him was pretty shocking. I was 8 years old or something, and in the hospital I took him to the toilet. It was one or two weeks before he died. My mother was bringing coffee and my dad was in a conversation with other uncles and my granny. Well, my grandpa wanted to go to the bathroom, so I had to bring him. He went to the toilet and when he was finished he washed his hands with soap. It was green soap, that's something I remember, because his brown skin contrasted with it.

Anyway, when he finished washing his hands he had to cough and he spitted in the sink. It was no gall, it was pure blood, with some black things in it. He looked at me and laughed a little ashamed. Then he said I shouldn't tell my mom and dad, and he washed his hands with green soap again.

No, I never told my parents.

xoxo.