The following story was extracted from the book "i remember to my Grandpa/Grandma from all of us". The moments we shared contributed by Chow Tuck Kheong Douglas, 29. Ode to my grandparents. I was in China on a work assignment late last year when Dad sent me an SMS. It read: “Dear son. Grandma passed away peacefully in her sleep this morning. Don’t have to fly back. Everything is well taken care of.” I scrolled through the SMS several times in brief denial, not quite sure how to react. But as I walked out of the office to ring Dad, just to make sure that he had enough help for the funeral rituals, I imagined Grandma, calm and collected, a wisp of a smile on her delicate face as Grandpa arrived once more, for the embrace she had been pining for. Grandma adored my brother and I, for we were the only grandchildren who lived with her. As my parents had to work, she took care of us, making sure we were ready for school, had our baths and ate on time. She was a quiet, unassuming woman whose life appeared to revolve only around our cramped little flat and the neighborhood wet market. She loved her regular dose of videotaped Cantonese drama series which Dad would diligently stock up. Occasionally, she would dabble in 4D and spend the morning pondering the secret combination to a small fortune. My brother and I would always be eager to ease her headache and draw up a list of numbers she could bet on. Grandpa on the other hand was the direct opposite. He was loud. Always with a tobacco pipe glued to his lips, he was our quintessential Sherlock Holmes. Not that he solved mysteries, but he came up with all sorts of theories why things were the way they were. He was a self-employed land broker and had a huge collection of maps neatly rolled up in his bedroom. Sometimes we would just lie next to him as he drew shapes in the maps as if locating some buried treasure. It was fascinating to watch him place paperweights and take measurements. We hardly knew what he was doing but felt privileged that he was letting us in on some secret operation. Strangely, we did not venture to ask him what exactly he was doing. We were just glad to observe and watch. At night, as little boys, we would snuggle up to him, enthralled by his Cantonese folk stories. When Grandpa passed away suddenly of liver cancer, Grandma’s world fell apart. She moved out to stay with my aunties and over the years became a recluse. We kept up with our visits, although Grandma had clearly given up on living. Eventually, she became bedridden and when I asked her what I could do for her before I left for China, she replied softly that she wanted to walk again, better still yet, to fly. Upon my return, as I laid a rose next to her portrait, in the temple where her ashes are kept, I knew the angels above have done what I could not do. And I was sure Grandpa had tagged along. Your grandson, Douglas. (This story was contributed as part of the 'To My Grandpa/Grandma' project initiated by NLB & the Advisory Panel for Seniors. This project is an inter-generation initiative targeted at grandparents and grandchildren. It aims to encourage the sharing of personal experiences, and to use personal stories, narratives and shared heritage to connect the different generations.) Title devised by Library staff.