It was close to midnight and I felt myself dozing off in the middle of my 90210 binge. Slowly, I let my body sink into my sheet and my mind wander off.

Four hours and 45 minutes later, I was woken up by the sound of a woman screaming. For a minute, I thought it was my younger sister in the room next to mine. I wasn’t sure if she was in physical pain or felt troubled from a nightmare that she was having, but I did what any older sister would do: run to her side. She keeps her doors locked at night, so either way, I would not be able to get to her without kicking the door down. I burst out of my room and knocked on the bedroom door next to mine only to hear that the screaming was not coming from her room but from my parents’.

It was my mother.

I stood by the foot of their bed as I watched my father rhythmically rock her back and forth, comforting her as much as he possibly could. I was confused out of my mind. I was watching my mom kicking and screaming and I didn’t know why.

He loosened his grasp around her and left her to her emotions. She rolled over on her stomach and cried into her pillow. He rose up and walked over to my sister and I.

And with his eyes fixed onto to the floor, he said, "Lolo Freddie is dead."

By that point, I felt my entire body sink to the ground. My legs, however, kept me standing. My chest tightened and my heart dropped. Within a second, I found myself drowning in my own tears.

My grandfather, like most other grandfathers or any paternal figure out there, was an amazing man. When we still lived in the Philippines, my parents were always working, leaving before I even woke up for school and getting home hours after my scheduled bed time. I spent most of my waking moments with my grandparents. For the first 11 years of my life, they held responsibility for my upbringing.

This is why my grandfather’s death has got to be the worst thing that has ever happened to me.

He was a strong man, physically and emotionally. He managed to push through ANY adversary, whether it be a health issue or my grandmother’s explosive temper (sorry, grandma).

He let his grandchildren indulge in the little things. When I was growing up, my grandmother would make frequent trips to Singapore to visit my aunt. The one time she made one of her trips, she came back to see that I packed on a good amount of weight. She went ballistic when she discovered that my grandfather was letting me slide in extra servings of food during lunch or dinner.

He loved getting out of the house. It was with him that I found myself adventuring around Manila during the summertime. He and I would take trips and go out to eat at Chow King and he wouldn’t even think twice about how long we stayed out.

He became our family’s number one fan. My older sister developed a love for volleyball, a love which carried onto me and my younger sister when we were both old enough to play. When she continued her playing career in college, he would be right there, front and center, cheering the loudest. He would come and watch the last couple of minutes of my practice from the other end of the gymnasium and later congratulate me on my progress (or my lack thereof). He would push my younger sister and I to do well in school and would praise us whenever we came home with good grades. He reminded his children and his grandchildren to be successful in everything that we pursue in life.

Sometime in 2014, I heard that he was getting sick. I thought nothing of it because I knew that he had a lot of health problems even when I was a little girl. He apparently received more medication and went to the hospital more frequently than I ever experienced with him.

But I thought nothing of it.

On Christmas Day in 2014, my grandfather was hospitalized. He was diagnosed with Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disease, also known as COPD or emphysema. To sum up this disease, the bronchial tubes in your lungs will shrink and air flow will not be as efficient. Simple activities that he did, such as walking upstairs or doing house work, became too strenuous for him.

My family and I were on Skype with him the night before for our traditional Christmas Eve dinner. He looked perfectly fine to me, talking to us and laughing. As usual, before ending the call, he said some last words to my sister and I: "study hard and be good."

A month later, I was awakened by the news.

According to the story that I have heard many times throughout the past 24 hours, my grandfather passed away with utmost ease. He had his last meal with family and went off to take a nap. When my grandmother and uncle noticed that he was getting weaker, they were preparing to take him back to the hospital. Before he took his very last breath, he broke out into a cold sweat and that was it. He spent his last moments in the house where he first met the love of his life, where he raised four successful children, the house that I grew up in. He said his final goodbyes to his family without trouble and slipped into eternal sleep with ease.

He did not want his loved ones to mourn his loss. He lived a beautiful 75 years and touched the souls of everyone he had encountered throughout those years. In my heart, I know that he is in a better place, a place where he's far from the evil of our modern society. He's somewhere, dancing in the clouds, keeping a watchful eye on the people that he loves the most. His legacy will live on forever.

I miss you dearly, Lolo. Thank you for the blissful laughs, moralizing lectures and, most importantly, the life-enriching adventures.