Top 10 Most Heartfelt Essays About Reuniting with Loved Ones in a Dream

A sudden downpour swept through the city, bringing a refreshing coolness to the usually hot and stuffy air of Hanoi. Not being someone who usually naps, I fell asleep early that evening. In my dream, I saw my beloved grandmother, whom I hadn't seen in years. It was a truly emotional dream that I’ll never forget.

My grandmother passed away two years ago, and the day she left us became an indelible memory, a haunting reminder of losing the one person I loved most. Even now, I still believe that she’s somewhere far away, in a better, peaceful place, and hasn’t really left this world—she's still with me.

In the dream, I saw her in the old garden, a place we used to call the “special garden” because it was always lush and vibrant throughout the seasons, holding many of my childhood memories. Through a misty haze, something urged me to hurry towards the garden. After what felt like a long time, I saw her sitting under the lan tree, smiling at me. Tears welled up in my eyes as I rushed to hug her, saying:

- Is it really you? Are you really here? I miss you so much!

She smiled, patted my head, and said:

- My dear, you’re all grown up and still crying. I’m here, I’ve come back to you.

Her words made my heart swell with emotion. To me, my grandmother was not only a family member but also a mother and a teacher—someone I cherished deeply. She taught me the values of life, guiding me toward truth, goodness, and beauty. She always said, 'Live in this world with the sincerity of your heart.' My parents worked far away, so during my childhood, my grandmother was the most familiar and precious figure in my life. I remembered the days when I would curl up in her arms to hear her gentle stories. I would say:

- Grandma, tell me a story!

And she would tell me the same familiar stories, but they never lost their warmth. In this moment, I thought, how I wish time could stop right here, in her embrace… forever. As I drifted in the flow of memories, the sound of my alarm clock pulled me back to reality. I woke up, filled with emotions—both moved and regretful. I regretted not being able to say goodbye to her, and not having told her more often how much I loved her.

This dream left me with a powerful, lasting impression. It served as a reminder for me to study harder, just like I promised my grandmother before she passed. It also became a source of strength that helped me face the challenges ahead. Goodbye, my angelic grandmother, you will always be in my heart.

My grandmother wore a simple black dress, her conical hat shielding her from the sun as she worked the fields throughout the year. She resembled a graceful white stork along the riverbank, her shoulders bearing the heavy weight of raising children and supporting her husband. Whenever I read these lines of poetry, memories of my maternal grandmother flood my mind—the tireless, kind-hearted woman who weathered the storms of life. I once dreamed of her, and in that dream, I was able to talk to her, nestled in her warm embrace.

That night, I stayed up late studying for an exam. The room was silent and peaceful, and I found my eyes growing heavy as I stared at the words on the page. At some point, I drifted off to sleep. In the haze between waking and dreaming, I felt a soft hand gently shake me awake. I opened my eyes and found myself staring into the loving gaze of my grandmother—the woman who had passed away long ago. She smiled at me, her face as warm and kind as I remembered. Choking on my emotions, I called out:

- Grandma, is that really you?!

She stroked my head gently and laughed:

- My dear, you’re grown now, why are you still crying?

With tears in my eyes, I threw myself into her arms, breathing in the familiar scent of her presence. My grandmother passed away when she was in her seventies, right when I was in the sixth grade. Even as the world became more modern, she maintained the same lifestyle she had when she was younger. She washed her hair with herbal remedies like soapberries, lemongrass, and pomelo leaves, leaving her thick, white hair as healthy as ever. Every morning, she would sit outside, brushing her hair and tying it up with a scarf she made herself. Even now, I can still picture that scene perfectly. Her skin had become wrinkled, dotted with age spots, and her mouth would chew betel nuts. Sometimes, she’d pull a small pouch from her waist and add tobacco or lime to make the betel nut taste stronger. I was the youngest grandchild, and as such, she spoiled me the most. She often let me sit on her lap while she told me stories. Those old folk tales she recited were the same ones over and over again, but every time she told them, I was captivated.

I held her tight, burying my face in her lap, pouting like I used to. I asked:

- Grandma, where have you been? I’ve been waiting for you to come back and tell me stories.

- Grandma’s gone to a faraway place, sweetie - she answered. But when I’m not around, do you still study hard and listen to your parents?

- I do, Grandma. But Mom and Dad are busy, and they don’t have time to tell me stories anymore - I replied in a downcast tone.

Grandma wrapped me in her arms, gently patting my back, and said:

- Your parents are busy because they want the best for you. You can’t blame them for that. I know you’re sensitive and quiet, but sweetie, no one stays young forever.

- I’m going into ninth grade now, and the schoolwork is overwhelming. I’m tired, Grandma. I don’t want to grow up. I just want to stay little and stay with you forever.

Grandma gently tapped me, just like she used to when I was a child:

- You silly thing. I know you’re tired, but hang in there, just a little longer. If you’re really exhausted, take it easy. But remember, it’s important to do what you love. Always take care of your health, and know that no matter what you do, I’ll always be here, supporting you...

I stayed nestled in her arms as we continued to chat. Eventually, I felt a hand shake me awake. I snapped my eyes open, confused. I wasn’t sitting with Grandma on the porch, but at my desk in my room. I had fallen asleep and dreamt of her. It was my mother who had woken me up, seeing me asleep at my desk after working late. I looked into her eyes and saw a striking resemblance to my grandmother...

Grandma, I’ll work hard and do what I love, because I know that no matter where I go or what I do, you’ll always be there, supporting me.

"Another New Year has come, Mom!" I looked up at the night sky, thinking of my beloved mother. It has been three years since she moved abroad. I still remember how she used to take me to the flower market and go shopping with me during the New Year's season. I sat there, lost in my thoughts, and soon drifted off to sleep.

"Hong, my dear!" I heard a voice calling from afar. I turned around and found myself standing in the park, a place where Mom used to bring me when I was little. A figure was walking toward me, both familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. "Could it be Mom?" I thought to myself. I rushed toward her to get a clearer look. It was her—my heart filled with joy and happiness. I couldn’t contain my emotions and shouted, "Mom, Mom!" I ran into her arms as she opened them wide to embrace me. "Hong! My child!" she said with a choked voice. I cried as I reunited with my beloved mother after so long. Now that I was close to her, I noticed a few strands of gray in her hair and the wrinkles around her eyes from the struggles she had endured abroad. But one thing remained unchanged—her smile. It was still as warm and peaceful as it always had been.

As I admired her, her voice suddenly broke the silence:

- Let's sit on the bench and chat, my dear. It’s been so long since we’ve had a proper conversation.

I nodded:

- Yes, Mom!

We walked to the familiar bench. She gently brushed my hair and asked:

- How is everyone doing at home?

I replied:

- Everyone is well, Mom! Grandpa sometimes has joint pain, and the uncles are still working regularly. Everyone always mentions you. They miss you so much.

Mom smiled gently:

- I see. And how’s your schoolwork going? Are you still chasing your dream of becoming a journalist?

I answered eagerly:

- This year, school has been much harder than before. Since it's my final year, I have extra classes to reinforce my knowledge. And to fulfill my dream of being a journalist, I’m still regularly submitting articles to the newspaper. I won’t disappoint you or anyone else, Mom.

Her words filled me with even more confidence:

- I believe in you. Keep up the hard work. Whatever happens, always share your joys and sorrows with me.

Listening to her warm voice, I felt even closer to her. I knew that despite being far away, she still thought of me, followed my every step, and cared about every part of my life. Everything I’ve achieved today is thanks to her encouragement. Her love has given me the strength to face life's challenges. Motherly love is truly sacred! After so long without her, now being together again was a happiness beyond words. I thought to myself, "Mom, we’re together again. Please don’t leave me anymore..."

Then, I fell back into those happy thoughts and feelings. Everything around me started to fade away...

"Hong! Wake up! Why are you dozing off? It’s almost New Year! Are you going to watch the fireworks with the family?" I rubbed my eyes and noticed the clock was nearing midnight. I looked around, confused, realizing it had all been a dream. I glanced up at the night sky, where the fireworks lit up the sky. A new year had arrived. I silently wished to the heavens, to the spring fairy, hoping she would tell Mom: "Mom, I miss you so much. Please come back to me soon."

In my family, the person I love and am closest to is my older brother. Two years ago, he graduated from the military academy and was assigned to work at the border region. Since then, he has rarely come home, only writing letters occasionally. When he was at home, he took great care of me. Every night, he would help me with my homework, especially with math, and explain problems to me quickly. We were incredibly close, but now that he is far away, I feel lonely and miss him dearly.

Tomorrow I have a math test, so I’ve been trying to solve the practice problems to prepare. I’ve completed most of them, but there’s one difficult problem left. I’ve been thinking about it for a long time but can’t find the solution. At this moment, I wish my brother were here to explain it to me. The night was late, and as I became more tired from struggling with the problem, everything around me began to blur...

Suddenly, I heard a familiar knock on the door: "Little one, come open the door for me!" Could it be him? Yes! It’s my brother! I jumped up in excitement and quickly opened the door. He walked in, placed his backpack on the floor, and patted my head:

_ Are you solving math problems? You're amazing!

He then sat down beside me and asked how my studies were going. I eagerly shared my academic achievements with him. After hearing me, he smiled with pride:

_ That’s my little sister!

I asked him to tell me about his life at the border. He happily shared many stories about his military experiences. As I listened intently, I noticed that his skin had become much darker, probably from spending so much time in the sun. He looked bigger and more muscular too, a result of the daily physical training required to stay fit and endure the harsh conditions at the border. But his eyes were still sharp, and he looked at me with the same kindness and affection as always.

_ My little sister has grown up! Do you miss me at home? I bet without me helping you with math, you’ve had a hard time with those difficult problems, huh? Even though I can’t help you study like before, I’m always cheering you on. Don’t give up, okay? Study hard, and I’ll proudly show off my smart little sister to my comrades.

_ I promise I’ll keep trying, and I won’t disappoint you, big brother. I’ll make sure to be worthy of being the sister of a soldier like you.

He hugged me, patted my shoulder, then stood up, slung his backpack over his shoulder, and walked toward the door. Waving, he called out:

_ I’ve got to go! Duty is calling!

He walked out the door. The sound of the door slamming shut woke me from my dream. Oh, it was just a dream.

Even though I only saw my brother in my dream, I felt so happy. When I woke up, I felt refreshed, my mind clearer. I was determined to solve that difficult problem and make my brother proud. After the test tomorrow, I’ll write him a letter and tell him about the dream. I’m sure he’ll be so happy to hear it.

Time passes by unknowingly, carrying everything with it. The dust of time spreads over everything, attempting to erase all memories. We never know where life’s storms will lead us. Many things happen in life, new people come into our world, and perhaps we forget the past. But when we pause for a moment, when we reconnect with ourselves, and when memories flood back, we startle and quietly call out: friend.

"I’ll meet you in my dreams" – this is something I used to say. But it never became a reality. Perhaps I was too careless, too absorbed in my own world, changing myself in the process? That’s when the fairy came, waved her magic wand, and made me embark on a journey to find myself, to rediscover my memories.

In the dream, I stand still in the middle of a large, vast room, bathed in an overwhelming, gloomy darkness. I am exhausted, walking aimlessly across a long stretch of sand. Perhaps my soul has turned to dust, scattered with the winds.

In the dream, I shiver from the cold. My skin and bones are chilled, my heart heavy with sorrow. In this dream, my heart beats with uncertainty, unsure of the destination of my journey, not knowing where to stop. I feel lonely, empty, wandering in the locked room of my own soul—where I buried all my memories.

Then, in the dream, you appear. In the dream, Sử, my friend, you are still the same. Your skin is darkened by the harsh sun, your hands rough and calloused from working with the sticky resin of plants, your eyes full of confidence and strength. And your smile, still absent, never once brightening your face. I rush to you, wanting to hold you tightly, seeking comfort from you. My friend, life’s storms have never defeated you. My friend, you are still as resilient as Asin, standing firm through all challenges.

I used to be an innocent girl, living in the warm embrace of my parents. I always listened to them and was told: "Don’t play with that boy Sử, the one who herds the buffalo." And so, whenever I saw you from a distance, my friends and I would run away, saying: "Stay away from Sử." My life was calm.

You—an unfortunate soul. Unfortunate from the very start: "The boy without a father." You were unfortunate because you weren’t a native, because you had no land, because of how people judged you: "His father died from AIDS, his brother is in prison." Your life was a storm.

But you rose up from the storm, pulling me from the grip of death under the muddy Red River. I had been playing by the river, picking flowers, nearly drowning, and everyone in the region knew about it. Yet you, my hero, remain nameless.

That was the first time I defied my mother’s wishes and befriended you. Maybe to you, I was just a gentle breeze, but to me, you were stronger than any storm in my life. You came, and through you, I learned to appreciate the simple things around me.

How could I forget those windy afternoons, lying in the middle of a field of wildflowers, listening to the sounds of kites fluttering in the air? How could I forget the joy of running along the embankment, my clothes full of grass seeds, shouting out: "I love my homeland!"

The happiness of a girl from the northern countryside was not just that. You worked tirelessly for the whole village, day in and day out, enduring hardships and humiliations, yet never showing a single emotion on your face. The village gave you a buffalo to care for, and you became friends with it. And that was it. I taught you to read, to do math. But did you know, Sử, you were also my teacher? Your life was a long story. You shared so many tales, more than I could ever imagine about the life of a 12-year-old boy. You dreamed of having a family, wishing to experience what I did, to once call out "Mom". But that never happened. "That’s life. The storms of life don’t choose anyone." I learned the value of money; I understood the sweat on my mother’s face and the tears in my father’s eyes. I realized how hard they worked to raise us, "the two little ducks". I regretted not eating my meals because I didn’t have a doll. I understood the value of a happy family. I regretted skipping school to play, not knowing that was a dream, a deep desire for you.

But indeed, "the storms of life do not choose anyone." Our family did well, and we moved away from that poor village. When you heard the news, you simply nodded. On the day I left, I didn’t see you again. Time passed, and six years went by. I almost forgot: I had a friend.

In the dream, you found me. Still the same. I felt embarrassed, shy, and ashamed... Yet that warm gaze remained. You, my friend, smiled. And I woke up.

Today, on this bus ride, I’m returning to my hometown, seeking out my childhood, searching for a friend, and looking to rediscover a lost memory.

On the first cold days of winter, the chill set in, and I went to bed earlier than usual. Lying beside my grandmother, I listened to the soft songs she used to sing in the past. Soon, her sweet voice lulled me into a deep sleep. In my dream, I saw my grandfather return to talk with me.

My grandfather would be around 70 years old now, but he has been gone since I was just entering first grade. Time has passed so quickly, and it feels like it’s been nearly ten years since I last lived with him, heard his deep, loving voice.

I clearly remember that dream. I saw my grandfather, with his familiar thin figure, walking towards me as I was studying. Overjoyed, I ran to hug him. His warm hands gently stroked my head, then he led me from my desk to the little chair we used to sit on while we practiced reading in the living room. It had been so long, but he still looked much the same as before. His face, full of kindness, now had many wrinkles. His eyes were a bit dimmer, yet his hearing was still sharp. Only his hair, now completely gray, showed the marks of time.

He asked me about my studies, whether I was doing well. Proudly, I shared the achievements I had made. At every mention, he nodded approvingly, praising how much I had improved. I felt that he was happy and proud of me. But he reminded me that I should use these achievements as motivation to keep striving. He hoped I would continue to work hard, train myself, and never forget the love and care my parents and teachers had given me. I sat quietly, absorbing his meaningful advice. Then, I asked about his health. He assured me he was doing well and always remembered us. He hoped I would take good care of my grandmother. I was deeply moved, not knowing what to say but silently nodding to show my gratitude.

We continued talking for a while. He told me many stories he used to share, and we enjoyed our conversation. His voice and warm laughter filled the small house.

As the night deepened, the silence grew unnaturally still. I asked him, more out of innocent reproach than anything: "Why don’t you visit us more often? Have you forgotten everyone? This time, you must stay longer to spend time with us." He softly replied, "Remember, I’m always with you." After saying this, he quietly walked toward the door. Fearing to be separated from him, I ran after him, but his figure kept fading away. Occasionally, he turned back and waved goodbye. I cried out for him. As I cried, I woke up and realized it had all been a dream. A dream I will never forget.

I will always treasure and cherish this precious dream. I believe that, though it wasn’t real, every word and gesture he shared with me serves as a source of strength for me to move forward in life.

The torrential rain mercilessly battered the remains of a collapsed structure, still trapping the misfortunes of a few unlucky souls beneath its rubble. Rescuers, overwhelmed by their helplessness, could only watch as a pair of hands, weaker with every passing moment, waved feebly for salvation amidst the suffocating metal and concrete.

On the other side of the barricade, past the throng of onlookers that crowded the path, a young woman sat on the ground. Beside her lay a weathered cotton bag and a black notebook. Her cheeks glistened, though it was unclear if it was from tears, sweat, or rain. The pallor of her face reflected profound despair, as she occasionally dozed off only to wake with a start. By dawn, when the sun barely peeked over the horizon, a disheveled man in a hard hat rushed toward her. His gaze avoided hers as he stammered, his voice heavy with sorrow, "Stay calm, Nam. Don’t despair. Uncle Tin said they found the body... confirmed it... it’s him, Nam. It’s really him. He’s gone." His words were followed by silence and then uncontrollable sobbing as both were consumed by the raw pain of loss.

A month later, the haunting imagery of that day still gripped my mother’s mind. As dusk fell, she imagined my father’s desperate struggle, reliving his pain to the point of tears. She would then quietly approach the altar, where she sat beside his portrait, lamenting,

- "Life dealt us a cruel hand, didn’t it? We’re poor, and with poverty comes endless suffering. Now you’ve left me and our child behind. You go find peace in the afterlife while I bear all the burdens of your struggles. I’ll carry everything, alone."

Her lamentations would tug at my heart, and my mind became a whirlwind of chaotic thoughts. Overwhelmed by the intensity, I longed to escape the stifling sadness of our home—a place now filled with sorrow and shadows. I wanted to flee, far from my mother’s tears and despair, fearful that her misery might consume me, transforming me into a mirror of her grief.

One night, as darkness enveloped me, I sensed something eerie. My surroundings felt empty—no chair, no mattress, nothing familiar. A cold grip clasped my leg, pulling me downward. Panic-stricken, I screamed for my mother, desperate for escape. Suddenly, a faint light pierced the gloom, revealing a horrifying sight: a bloodied hand gripping my ankle. It belonged to a man clad in a shirt with the embroidered "N" that my mother had sewn for my father. My heart pounded as I recognized him. This battered figure was my father, a shadow of the man I once knew.

Despite the terror, as realization set in, the weight of our reunion crushed all other emotions. Amid the rubble, my father’s frail voice emerged:

- "My child, I love you and your mother dearly. Tell her to stop her endless laments; I’ve heard enough of them!" He chuckled weakly before continuing, "From now on, life will change for you. Your mother will carry more burdens, and you must be her pillar. Remember, loss brings resilience, and resilience should lead to something better. This way, the loss won’t be in vain. Help your mother, my child. Promise me."

I nodded, tears streaming down my face, replying, "Yes, Father. I promise."

Then, as swiftly as the vision came, I found myself back home. My mother’s voice broke the silence, "Why is the light off?" I stumbled toward her, embracing her tightly, whispering, "I love you, Mom. Let me get you a glass of water." And though my heart ached, I resolved to carry forward my father’s words: "Loss must lead to resilience, and resilience to something better. This way, the loss won’t be for nothing."

Have you ever believed that after a dream, everything you've long wished for might come true, just like a fairytale? I once held onto that belief, only to face disappointment. Yet, I still cherish the moments brought by magical dreams as though they had just happened yesterday.

When I was in fifth grade, during the Lunar New Year, my beloved grandfather passed away. He left us before we could celebrate the New Year together. I was devastated, thinking I would never again experience a New Year with him by my side. Years later, as the anniversary of his passing approached close to another New Year, I lit incense at his altar, longing to see him again at the family feast. That night, on the eve of New Year’s Eve, I lay restless in bed, tears blurring my vision.

Suddenly, footsteps near my bed startled me awake. Was it real or just a dream? There he stood, my kind-hearted grandfather, smiling gently. He asked me to get ready for the New Year market with my mother. I hugged him tightly, overwhelmed with joy and nostalgia. He looked just as I remembered—tall, with his rosy complexion and snow-white hair. His gray suit, though old, was impeccably pressed, making him look as dignified as ever.

After shopping with my mother, I hurried home, forgetting everything else, and found him reading a book. He promised to take me to the flower market. Riding on his old bicycle, I felt a wave of childhood memories wash over me. The bustling streets, teeming with people preparing for the New Year, seemed more vibrant than ever.

At the market, surrounded by vibrant blossoms—gladiolus, marigolds, chrysanthemums, and violets—he taught me about the beauty and uniqueness of each flower. Finally, we chose a peach blossom branch, still budding, as he explained that its full beauty would unfold after New Year’s Day.

Back home, the family gathered for the feast, and I felt a profound sense of happiness with him by my side. As midnight neared, he patted my head and promised to bring me a first sprout of the New Year. Though I tried to stay awake, sleep overtook me. When I awoke, the house was filled with sunlight, and he was gone. It was as though he had never returned, leaving me to wonder if it had all been just a dream.

The dream was bittersweet—so real yet fleeting. It taught me to cherish hope and to strive for my dreams, knowing they might only exist in my imagination. Though fairy tales remain just that, they inspire us to hold onto faith and perseverance.

“À ơi … à ời…”

The sweet lullaby woke me up. The sunlight wasn’t harsh, but it was bright enough to make my eyes squint. Rubbing my eyes, I realized I was lying on the porch, my head resting on familiar, thin legs. “It’s Grandma! It really is Grandma!” I whispered to myself, then shyly looked up. Before me was a gentle, loving face, looking at me with affection. I jumped up and hugged her tightly, crying, “Grandma! I’ve missed you so much.”

Her hands, full of wrinkles, gently stroked my hair:

- My dear granddaughter! I’ve missed you too… Wow! Look how much you’ve grown! – She said as she pushed me away, wiping the tears from my face.

I looked at her for a long time. It was still the same gentle face. The same loving gaze, the same wrinkles on her cheeks—marks of time passing by too quickly. Her hair was now white as snow. It seemed to have turned whiter since I was a child. She wore the same simple brown shirt and faded black pants. But today, she seemed more beautiful than ever. Still carrying the beauty of a woman who spent her life working for her children and grandchildren, yet something extra made her seem like a fairy, casting blessings upon the world.

- Let me admire my granddaughter for a bit! You still have that stubborn forehead from before! Your eyes are still as mischievous as when you were little. Your hair is long now! When you were small, you always wanted to cut it, never willing to wear dresses or have your hair tied up. – Grandma smiled lovingly, brushing my cheek. – You’ve grown into such a lovely young girl!

- So much has changed while you were away, Grandma! – She looked around, her voice filled with a sense of nostalgia.

- Yes, Dad said he renovated the house to welcome you back! Grandma, look, your bed is still here! – I said, pointing to the inner room. – And remember the blanket you used to sleep with? Now it keeps me and little Cu Ti warm every night when the weather turns cold. Everything in the house is just as you arranged it. I’m so glad you’ve come back to be with us. Dad, Mom, and Cu Ti will be so happy when they return home!

And so, I sat by Grandma, telling her all that had happened over the past ten years while she was away. I shared everything—stories from home, from school—everything I could remember. Sometimes, when I couldn’t recall something, Grandma would remind me. I was amazed. When I asked how she knew, Grandma said she had always been watching over us from somewhere.

When I was little, I would pull out Grandma’s gray hairs while she told me stories—both real ones and fairy tales. I had an idea to do the same today—tell Grandma stories while I pulled out her gray hairs, just like we did when I was a child.

The sun sank behind the bamboo grove, and evening descended on our small village. Grandma reminded me that it was almost time for Cu Ti and my parents to return, so the two of us began to prepare dinner and tidy up the house. When I was little, I would run around after Grandma from the house to the kitchen, from the kitchen to the garden. But now, I could help her pick vegetables and sweep the floor. After cooking and making rice, we fed the chickens and pigs, watered the plants, and pulled weeds from the garden. As we worked, Grandma told me about the interesting things she had experienced during her time away. Finally, we waited until it was dark, but still, there was no sign of my parents or Cu Ti. Suddenly, Liên, a girl from the village, rushed in, breathless, to inform us that my parents and Cu Ti would be late, as Mom had told her earlier, but she had forgotten to pass on the message.

Grandma and I had dinner together. It had been so long since I had tasted my favorite dishes. Mom cooked the bitter melon soup really well, but it was only when Grandma made it that I could really taste the love. Maybe it was the love of a grandmother, combined with the warmth of caring for a little granddaughter, mixed with the wisdom of life.

After dinner, I took on the task of washing the dishes and making Grandma a cup of ginger tea. We sat on the porch, the cool breeze of the summer night surrounding us. Grandma sipped her tea, stroked my hair, and told me more stories from the past, just like when I was a child… And with that, I fell into a peaceful and contented sleep!

- Tomorrow! Wake up for school! The sun’s almost up! – Mom’s voice called me, pulling me from my slumber.

I woke up, ran from the yard to the kitchen, then out to the garden… “No! Grandma didn’t come back! It was just a dream!” I thought to myself, and for some reason, tears began to fall. Sitting on the tree where Grandma had planted the long-ago lychee, I buried my face in my hands, crying softly. The morning wind rustled the tree leaves, as if it were Grandma sending me her comfort. And then, like a dream, I faintly heard the rustling of the leaves, “Be strong, my dear granddaughter! I’m always watching over you! I love you!”

Time passed quickly, as if it were a fleeting moment. It has been ten years since Grandma left and went far away. Grandma often told me that everyone must face life’s partings and that I shouldn’t be too sad or cry too much when someone passes, because that would keep them from leaving for the other world. She would say that life on Earth ends when life in another world begins—one that is better, where everyone is happy. Even so, there are times when I can’t sleep because I miss Grandma. I miss her embrace, her stories, and her loving gaze… Cherish every moment you have with your family, and love them while you can.