The loss of a loved one allowed Kylie Liu to reflect on how she spends time with others.
You know how some memories always stay stuck in your head, perfectly preserved like a photograph? For me, it was a summer afternoon filled with bright sun, an In-N-Out drive-thru, music playing, and just a normal car ride with my dad. But as we drove down a familiar road, without warning, or even a change in his voice, my dad abandoned the once innocent conversation with one, almost inconspicuous statement.
“Last night, your grandma passed away. My mom.”
There was no dramatic pause, just the truth given simply. But those few words instantly displaced the calmness of the day. As I turned my head slightly to the left, I saw my dad’s eyes glued to the road, his grip on the steering wheel stiff and unmoving. When the realization really set in, an unimaginable pain surged through my body, and it felt as if the world was collapsing around me. What I remember most, though, was the inexorable feeling of regret.
Because, my grandmother lived in China, and for years during our weekly calls, I would play her something on the cello. She loved it and I loved it as well, so it became our little tradition across miles and miles. But in the months before her passing, I began making up excuses and I stopped playing for her entirely. Our conversations shrank down to brief, meaningless exchanges with the most interesting phrases being monotone “How are you?” or “I’m so busy here.”