When I was 19, my grandmother died. It was on a Sunday in July, so I could be present at her death. At first, I didn't cry; in fact, I couldn't.
        My grandmother had lived with my family for five years until she died. She always had a stern face and was a woman of few words. I was afraid of her. Suddenly, my grandmother slipped on the ice in winter. After that she was confined to her bed for four years. She was paralyzed on her right side. Moreover, she had senile dementia. These two conditions of illness made it hard for my mother to care for her.
        For example, my grandmother often cried, "Give me a meal," right after she had eaten a meal. So my mother served her meals several times a day. And my mother had to wash her blanket everyday because my grandmother dirtied it. Besides that, my grandmother made a lot of extra work for my mother, as if she couldn't stand to see my mother take even a brief rest, and this made my mother's life hard. So my mother couldn't have any free time and couldn't go out.
        I knew that I had to love and tend to my grandmother as my mother did, but I hated my grandmother. Indeed, I couldn't like my grandmother who bothered my mother in so many ways. However, my mother did her best to attend her mother-in-law, and she never seemed to mind. I thought that any other daughter-in-law, even a dutiful daughter-in-law given a presidential citation, couldn’t do better for her mother-in-law than my mother did. But my mother seemed to think that she didn't do enough. I couldn't understand her attitude at all.
        A few days after my grandmother's death, I went into my grandmother' room casually. The room was empty and quiet. The image of my grandmother floated before my eyes, and I thought for a long time there. All of a sudden, I wanted to see my grandmother whom I had hated when she was alive, and I seemed to be able to understand my mother then. And I realized that it was filial piety that my mother had shown me, so I cried hard. And I regretted that I hated my grandmother and that I wasn't good to her. But it was too late.
        I sometimes go into my grandmother's room even now, which is my brother's room now, and think about her. How lonely did she feel in this room? How bored did she get? I should have talked with her warmly. I thought that I would have to do my filial duty to my parents because I didn't do it to my grandmother. And I thought that this would be the only way to be forgiven by my grandmother. Although I don't do that well, I will do my best from now on. Filial duty may be easier than I think. Studying hard to meet my parents' expectations and being their pleasure may be a kind of filial piety. I hope that my grandmother can look down at my changes to come from heaven, and that she can forgive me for the past.