The following is an essay that I began before my grandfather’s death, and completed in full only afterwards. Usually when I write for this website I write with a specific audience in mind. However, this essay was written without concern for audience. It is written more for the purpose of biographical documentation than anything else…and it is admittedly long. I will not be offended if you decide not to read it. To those of you who took the time to write sympathetic words…thank you.

On April 5th, 2006, at 5:12 p.m., I watched a great man depart from this world. Hoshiko Tohru—my grandfather—died in the comfort of his own bed with almost all the members of his immediate family present. He was 84 years old.

On Sunday, April 2nd, I returned home from Vietnam to a message telling me that my grandfather’s health had declined. The doctors gave him three weeks at the most. I reconfirmed the plans I had previously made to visit the following weekend. By Monday, an exponential decline in health had him at two to three days left, and by Tuesday it was clear that I would have to leave early the next morning at the very latest. My sister was already in motion, scrambling desperately to change her itinerary to the next possible flight. Succeeding, her 25 hour trip would ultimately still get her to Japan on Thursday evening, about 28 hours too late.