Author: Liu Jiayu 劉佳瑜
My grandpa passed away when I was in Primary Six. Time has gone by so quickly, now that I’m grown up, my memories of him have gradually become blurred. Although my recollections are fragmented, whenever I close my eyes, I can still picture certain scenes: him sitting in front of the shop on the first floor of our house, brewing tea and gazing outside, his expression always calm and peaceful. That was the most familiar scene of my childhood.
Our family ran a shop on the first floor, and my grandpa always woke up very early. He liked to sit downstairs in the early morning, making tea while waiting for the day to begin. Back then, every morning when my mum sent me to school, we would go downstairs to say goodbye to him. Grandpa would often smile and wave at me, gently reminding me, “Be good, and study hard.” At the time, those mornings felt ordinary, but looking back now, they have become the most precious moments in my heart.
As time passed, my grandpa’s presence in my memory slowly faded. Many of the ways he took care of us are no longer clear to me, only vague impressions remain. Even now, when I try hard to recall those memories, the images resurface little by little. Sometimes, while typing, I suddenly feel my nose sting and my tears begin to well up.
The year my grandpa passed away, I was still young and didn’t really understand what “death” meant. When I heard that he had left us, I didn’t react strongly. I only felt that everything had happened very suddenly. Even when my family chanted scriptures and held memorial rituals for him, I simply sat quietly, feeling very little. It wasn’t until the seventh day after his passing, when I followed my family into the memorial hall, that I truly realized he was really gone. The moment I saw his memorial tablet and photograph, my emotions completely collapsed. Tears streamed down uncontrollably, and I cried so hard that I could barely breathe. The person leading the ritual looked at me and softly said, “Your grandpa must have loved you very much when he was alive.” That sentence made me cry even harder, because I knew it was true.
My greatest regret is that I didn’t get to see my grandpa one last time. At the time, my parents thought I was too young and might be frightened or traumatized, so they didn’t allow me to go in to say goodbye. I didn’t really understand then and simply obeyed, but as I grew older and looked back, I felt a sense of emptiness in my heart. That regret of never saying a final “goodbye” to him has always stayed with me.
After my grandpa passed away, I dreamed of him one night. He sat beside my bed, smiling at me just like he used to. He didn’t say anything, but I could feel his warmth and reassurance. When I woke up, I couldn’t stop crying, yet at the same time, I felt that perhaps he had come to see me, to let me know that he was doing well. From then on, I often felt that he was still around, just accompanying me in a different way.
Looking back now, I realize that my grandpa’s influence has always been with me. Even though his image has grown more distant over time, the gentleness and strength he left behind have become part of who I am. Whenever I pass by the first floor of our home and see the tea set or smell the familiar aroma of tea, it feels as if I can see him sitting there again, smiling and saying to me, “Good morning, be good.”
The pain of losing a loved one may fade with time, but longing never disappears. That longing becomes a source of strength, reminding me to cherish the people in front of me and teaching me how to understand and feel love. Although my grandpa is no longer here, he continues to live on in my memories, in every recollection of his gentle smile.
我的阿公是在我國小六年級的時候離開的。時間過得很快，如今我已經長
大了，對他的印象也漸漸變得模糊。雖然記憶有些零碎，但只要閉上眼，我仍
能想起一些畫面：他坐在家裡一樓的店面前，泡著茶、看著外面，神情總是那
麼安靜、祥和。那是我童年最熟悉的日常風景。
我們家一樓開著店，阿公總是起得很早。他喜歡在清晨的時候坐在一樓，
一邊泡茶，一邊等著一天的開始。那時候，媽媽每天早上送我上學時，我們都
會到一樓跟他說再見。阿公常常笑著對我揮手，語氣溫柔地叮嚀我：「要乖喔，
認真上課。」那樣的早晨，在當時再平凡不過，但現在回想起來，卻成了我心
裡最珍貴的片段。
隨著時間流逝，阿公的身影在記憶裡越來越淡。很多他對我們的照顧，我
已經想不起來細節，只剩下一些模糊的印象。直到現在，每當我努力去回想，
畫面才會一點一滴浮現，有時候甚至會在打字的時候，突然感覺鼻子一酸、眼
淚就快掉下來。
阿公過世的那一年，我還小，對「死亡」這件事並不太能理解。當我聽到
他離開的消息時，心裡其實沒有太大的反應，只覺得一切很突然。即使後來家
人一起為他誦經、辦法會，我也只是安靜地坐著，沒有太多感覺。直到他的頭
七那天，我跟著家人走進靈堂，那一刻我才真正意識到，他真的不在了。當我
看到靈位和照片的瞬間，情緒整個崩潰，淚水止不住地流下來，哭到幾乎喘不
過氣。主持法會的人看著我，輕聲說：「阿公生前一定很疼你。」那句話讓我更
哭得厲害，因為我知道那是真的。
我最遺憾的一件事，是我沒有看到阿公最後一面。那時候，爸媽怕我年紀
太小，會害怕或留下陰影，所以沒有讓我進去告別。當時我不太懂，只是聽話
地站在外面，但長大後回想起來，卻覺得心裡有一個空缺。那是我一直放不下
的遺憾——沒有跟他說最後一句「再見」。
在阿公離開之後，有一晚我夢見他。他坐在我的床邊，和以前一樣微笑著
看著我，沒有說話，但我感覺得到他很溫暖、很安心。夢醒之後，我忍不住哭
了，但同時也覺得，那可能是阿公來看我、告訴我他一切都好。從那以後，我
常常覺得他還在，只是換了一個方式陪著我。
現在回想起來，阿公對我的影響其實一直存在。雖然他的身影越來越模
糊，但他留下的那份溫柔與堅定，已經成為我內心的一部分。每當我經過家裡
的一樓，看到泡茶的茶具、聞到熟悉的茶香，彷彿又能看到他坐在那裡，笑著
對我說：「早啊，要乖喔。」
失去親人的痛，或許隨著時間會淡化，但思念不會消失。那份思念會變成
一種力量，提醒我珍惜眼前的人，也讓我學會去理解與感受愛。阿公雖然不在
了，但他仍然活在我的記憶裡，活在我每一次想起他的溫柔笑容之中。