The Only Thing I Regret Not Doing in My 21 Years of Life
An agonizing lesson I shall always carry deep within
1 AM and pitch dark save for the Emergency department’s blinking neons. A few feet away, hugging herself, my mom’s trembling like a leaf — because of the chilling air or the pain, I don’t know.
Shrugging off my zipped hoodie and wrapping it around her, “Let me go check real quick”, I say to which she weakly nods. Walking in, the PPE kit ensconced white coats huddled around my grandfather makes my heart skip a beat.
Ushered into the counseling room, “We need you to sign a consent form. We’ll try our best, but he doesn’t look too good”, breaks the doctor with a sympathetic smile. With a dead “Oh. Sure” and a sunken heart, I mechanically scribble on the dreadful piece of paper.
My mind’s in a daze as I walk across the corridor to the withered, gasping man that was my grandfather. This couldn’t be him.
The badminton ace who could beat guys 30 years younger. That sprightly machine who could breezily march up to the third floor, heaving a ton of luggage. The source of the booming laughter that would echo around the house.
This wasn’t him. Must be a cruel joke. The moment I go back home, he’ll scream, “Surprise!”, and make the house ring with…
