Neelam Kumar Dhungel

When I walked through the front door, the first thing that hooked my attention was the odour. Then the groan. Though it all occurred 10 years ago, I still remember the occasion vividly. My sister and I had just returned after visiting a park, expecting everything to be normal. I were soon to discover that nothing would ever be the same again.

As we inched towards the living room, a pitiful sight met us. There, lying facedown on a couch, was my grandfather, ashen-faced and trembling. His was bald and gasping for air. He suddenly grabbed a blue pan, plunged his face into it, and vomited with such vehemence that I shivered. Only then did I fully understand what it meant for him to have cancer. At seven years of age, I confronted the horrors of cancer in my living room, and realised for the first time that my grandfather was fighting for life. Catching a glimpse of me from the corner of his eyes, he raised his head from the pan and managed to say, “Hello,” only to vomit again — and missed the pan. My sister saw my face, put her hand on my shoulder, and whispered, “Let him rest — he has been fighting brave and hard.”

My granddad is also my hero. The source of my love and guidance was now battling for life. After he was diagnosed as suffering from malignant cancer in 1993, the effects of the news came down heavily on us all. A series of debilitating surgeries and medications took away my hero.

Growing up without a grandfather by my side, I always felt isolated at home and school. I was quiet, timid, and an introvert. At one time, I feared human company and inferiority complex took me over. And it only helped others to bully me.

My timidity dented my school studies. Ridiculed by my classmates, I lost the confidence to excel. Each bad result would not only undermine my confidence, but also made me feel as if I had failed my grandfather, who cared so much about academics. I was ashamed of every report card I showed him, mistaking his concern for disappointment.

But in those bad situations, my granddad gave me courage to perform my best. He always helped me with my studies, including hiring teachers. And every time I came up with good results, there he was to encourage me. “Good! That is my boy! Keep it up,” he would say.

When I saw my hero crumbling, I could not stop crying. I went to my bedroom and wept. I was helpless, unable to hold my hero back. Every toy brought back his memories — and tears.

The inevitable occurred three days later. I had scurried to summon the doctor when my grandmother’s wails announced his final departure. I fell onto my knees and wept.

Now I remember him in every success, every failure, every difficulty, every new work I begin and every time I feel lonely. I really miss him when I don’t have anyone to share my feelings with. And I know, he is there in heaven blessing me always and helping me out of every trouble I face.