My Childhood Memory

1236 Words5 Pages
Love, Responsibility, and something in between “Memory is a funny thing” said Murakami in his Norwegian Wood. And it actually took me some time to comprehend what it actually meant. Then I realized nostalgia was even worse. The memory of my childhood strained with the whistled sound from a train station built near a house I lived with my grandparent when I was in high school. It was a suburban house, flowing behind a house backdoor was a small river. The house was massive with four bedrooms, too many bedrooms. In my childhood memory, my grandfather was someone who loved outdoor activities that he usually walked his male Dobermann along the railroad track at evening. It was his usual habit before he lost control the left part of his body. Before…show more content…
She enjoyed evening by spending time with herself in her room, completely alone. It seemed to me this period was the only time my grandmother could have a rest from her duty as a caregiver for her husband. The rest of the day, when I was at school and my aunt at work, it was my grandmother only who could take care of him. When we were back at home my grandmother would report to me and my aunt as if it was necessary for us to know many cookies my grandfather had for a day, but she kept her feeling concealed. It was when my grandmother had her right breast cut that we knew she was had a breast cancer. Memory was such a visible thing that we knew it existed because it left a…show more content…
The funeral arranged at a local temple. The place was crowded my grandmother was there, standing, smiling. I stayed silent and hugged her instead of saying a word. My grandmother hugged me back tightly, probably too tight. She cried at my father’s funeral but this time she didn’t. I went inside the funeral rites to respect his coffin. Last time we met he barely remembered me for he mistook me with my mother. I stayed for three days, helping family with the arrangement. My grandmother was thankful with everyone who came, busying with the souvenir to give the guest on the cremation day. Now the fight was already ended. The caregiver burden was finished. When you gave someone the best you can, there was nothing left to be sorry. Observing her capability to forgive, I learnt about how much it took to love
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