14/04/2026
For my grandpa…
fly well… you don’t have to worry about anything anymore.
April 14, 2026
My grandpa passed away peacefully, around 3 p.m.
After I heard the news from my mom,
I put everything down.
I lay back on the swing on the balcony,
and the memories just… slowly spilled out through my eyes.
Three days before that,
I found out he wasn’t doing well again.
I don’t even know how many times it had happened,
but I never got used to it. Not even once.
Mom told me his body was getting more and more swollen.
I could already feel it…
it was kidney failure.
And deep down, I knew…
he didn’t have much time left.
She told me that when she sat beside him,
taking care of him, she gently said,
“If you’re ready to rest…
you can go.
Don’t worry about us here.”
He slowly opened his eyes,
looked at her… and said softly,
“Oh… I thought you were someone else.
It’s you, my dear.”
In that moment,
he wasn’t really seeing my mom.
“My dear” was what he always called my grandma,
the woman he loved,
the one who had already gone before him.
Maybe…
in that quiet, fading moment,
he could see her again.
And my mom…
she just sat there, listening to those words
from her own father,
not knowing
that he would be leaving her very soon.
She kept talking to him gently,
even though he was already drifting far away.
The soft breeze on the balcony
brings me back to the first kite he ever made for me.
When I was little,
I stayed at my grandparents’ house for a while
because my mom had a car accident and broke her arm.
So she left me in their care.
My aunt would play with me,
my grandma would teach me how to make sweets and flower garlands,
and my grandpa…
he would sit on the bench, quietly sniffing his herbal nasal medicine.
The kids in the village would fly kites,
including my older brother.
Back then, kites cost just a few baht,
depending on how big or beautiful they were.
I didn’t have any money,
so I cried and asked my grandpa for some.
But instead…
he made one for me.
My kite was the most beautiful.
And it flew higher than anyone else’s.
It rose all the way to the end of the string,
and the wind carried it so high
I couldn’t bring it down anymore.
I remember looking up at it until my neck hurt.
In the end, I had to tie the string to a coconut tree,
because it was flying so high in the wind.
That kite…
it did its job perfectly.
Another memory that stayed with me
was during the rainy season.
There were so many flying termites,
and my brother used them as bait for fishing.
I didn’t even have a fishing rod,
so I asked my grandpa to make one for me.
He made me a tiny fishing rod, just the right size for my hands.
He carefully chose the bamboo,
straightened it with fire,
cut an old slipper to make a float,
and tied the hook with a strong, careful knot.
Of course…
it was better than anyone else’s.
My friends were jealous.
I caught fish and brought them to him,
but he would always release them back into the water.
My grandpa was strict.
He cared about discipline, about how we dressed,
and how we carried ourselves.
But he was always gentle and kind to others.
And me…
I love him.
Now that we have to say goodbye,
these memories keep coming back, over and over again.
They feel like they just happened yesterday.
Grandpa…
the kite I’m sending with you…
if it can carry you somewhere peaceful, somewhere beautiful,
then I hope you fly high…
as high as my kite once did.
