I did do the traditional thing in Vang Vieng, Laos: I went tubing and boozing. And could write an entire article on it, but I would not be the first or the last to wax poetic about the fun times and then dwell on the hangover.
Instead, I’ll write a post about a far more significant event that occurred while I was in Vang Vieng: the passing of my grandpa.
On the recovery day after tubing, I was on Facebook or blogging or something, when my mother came online at 3:30am. She immediately opened a chat with me asking “can you call me right now?” I knew right then and there that something was wrong. My mother is not the type to be on Facebook in the middle of the night. Nor is she the type to give a sense of urgency when there is no need. My mind immediately raced to the worse possibilities, something was wrong with her or my brother or my dad.
When I called her, she confirmed that my grandpa had passed away not two hours before. It was quick, and fairly painless. My mind immediately flew to flying home, and that I should be with my family. But in the conversation with my mother, the initial shock was overcome with the realistic view that if I went home I wasn’t coming back. And that in all honesty, he never would have wanted me to come home (A few days later, I ended up hearing from my auntie that he loved talking about my adventures to anyone and that he followed my blog religiously).
After the conversation with my mom, I crawled into my bed, and sobbed. There was nothing else to do but miss home and mourn.
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