There's no denying that this half year was a year of growth. There were hard times and easy times. Good and bad... a serious dichotomy of life. You know that this feeling is a reminder. It's a grounding process. It's that voice inside your head that pinches at your heartstrings and lets you know you're alive... or that you're being stupid.

My mom and I pulled into the dark asphalt driveway and parked in the garage. My grandmother unlocked the door amidst her daily puttering routine. She was going on and on about how much she loved seeing the flowers at graduation and how nice it was to see all the family members. I walked into the house and was immediately consumed by the familiar scents of my childhood... minus the cigarette smoke. A strange feeling wafted over me as I walked through the house, setting up futons and air mattresses. So much of him was in this house.

As I moved to open the sliding glass door, I could see him lying at his spot in the play room in the middle of his afternoon nap with me sitting next to him telling him how much I wanted him to go to Vegas for my 21st birthday. I could hear the factual sadness in his voice as he told me with a smile how he knew he'd never go back there.

After a Costco trip, we returned to put groceries away in the outside icebox. I noticed his chair was gone. I saw myself at three years old, blowing bubbles and drinking grape Kool-Aid as he sat and puffed at his cigarettes. I saw myself sitting at the table, watching his arms get thinner and his face slowly age.

The next night, as I stepped into the humid house, I decided to turn on the air conditioner to help with the cooling process. As I turned to walk out of the room, I saw his empty bed, and the last time I saw him alive. I saw him lying on the bed, with his oxygen tube around his face. He didn't look well, but I told myself it was because he was tired. Somewhere inside I knew it would be the last time. After hearing his voice tell me to take care of myself, my brother and my parents, I hurried to leave without giving him a hug or a kiss, for fear that I would be overcome and show "weakness".

Two months later my brother called me to let me know he was gone.

I started tearing as I walked into the Safeway. I was on a mission. I wanted the prettiest bouquet that showed the colors of the graduation he was never meant to attend. After passing over the baby's breath, daisies and daffodils, I found a Spring bouquet that looked like the flowers from Santa Clara my grandmother fell in love with.

As I drove to the church, I could hear his voice, "You only come to visit me when you're leaving!" half joking half serious. He was a stubborn man, but I know he loved me, and I always felt a twinge of guilt when he said that. I walked across the manicured lawn to the Nokotsudo, then proceeded in to the room of final resting places. I realized that I had no idea where my grandfather's ashes lay. I felt stupid for not being more prepared as I combed past random names in search of the familar. "Hiyakumoto", "Sugimura"... definitely not alphabetical order.. Finally, in the place I started, I found myself staring at a familiar name. "Joe M. Fujimoto". "Hi Pappy..." I said quietly as I removed the wooden covering to reveal the simple yet beautiful urn that lay within.

I carefully unwrapped the colorful bouquet and placed them in one of the reserved vases, unsure whether I should be talking to the spirit of my dead grandfather. It felt like the most visible place for him to "see" me. I wanted to speak, but nothing came out. As I placed the vase before his urn, an overwhelming wave of emotion erupted in my heart, as true realization began to set in.

I miss him, and I feel guilty.

I miss him because I can never ask him what his childhood was like, or how he asked Nanny to marry him. I can never learn how to gamble from his expert mind that has seen Vegas too many times. I can never watch him do his "Pencil through a Dollar" gag or ask him how to get two washers onto a string. I can never apologize for visiting at the end of my stay instead of the beginning. I miss him because he's gone forever.

When we came home for the funeral back in March, it was family first. We were supposed to be strong for Nanny and Dad. We could cry, but we needed to be strong. My brother said he felt bad for me because I couldn't be there when it happened. Truthfully, I didn't want to be there. Truthfully, I was never really close to my grandfather. I didn't understand the reasons why he did things or his thought processes. Truthfully, I would not have been able to be strong enough.

Another realization was the fact that his life came to an end, and my life somehow reached a beginning. This was my first visit home after graduation and the first time visiting the nokotsudo.

Every ending makes way for a new beginning...