DAY 4 OF IMPROVE MY WRITING IN 30 DAYS: 'My most vivid childhood memory is...'

My most vivid childhood memory is the moment I realized my dad had passed away. I was six years old, staying at my dad's brother's house with my brother because my dad had undergone brain surgery. My mom had to take care of him both in the hospital and at home afterward. Staying at my uncle's house was not a good experience. His wife yelled at me for crying in the shower because the water was too cold for me.

It was almost midnight, and the fluorescent light was on. My mom was crying, and a few people were gathered around my dad's bed. When I saw him, he wasn’t moving. His eyes were wide open, staring upward. He didn’t blink. His pupils were half-visible. I didn’t fully understand what was happening, but I think people around me were saying that my dad had died.

My mom held my brother’s hand and mine, and we tried to close my dad’s eyes. She asked us to tell him, “We’re here. Please go peacefully.”

When I grew older, I remembered a question I had asked my mom at that moment: “Is Daddy still going to take us on an airplane?” I had never flown before, and my dad had planned a trip for us after his surgery. It never happened. As an adult, I feel so bad for asking such a naive question. I must have broken my mom’s heart. She had just lost her husband, and all I could think about was an airplane.

When I finally understood the reality of my dad’s death, I cried almost every night, even into high school. I cried quietly so my mom wouldn’t notice.

The same scene repeated itself 12 years later. My mom was lying on her bed. It was afternoon, and her eyes kept looking upward. She was still alive but had been suffering from cancer for several years. Although she had recovered once, the cancer came back. I hate cancer. Why does such an evil thing exist?

My heart sank when I saw her eyes looking up—it was a bad sign. That night, my brother and I sat by her bed, holding her hands. I kept my fingers on her pulse, afraid to sleep. I wanted to be there the moment she left.

Around 4:30 a.m., I suddenly felt her pulse stop. I called out to her, but she didn’t respond. I checked her breathing, but it had stopped too. I cried. I cried so hard. Then I stood up and called my mom’s brother to tell him she had passed away.

Even now, 20 years later, the pain remains. Writing this brings tears to my eyes—it still hurts so much. These moments, especially losing my parents, are etched deeply into my memory.