The terminal felt cold and lonely despite the fact that it was crowded with people. I waited patiently on the armchair, keeping my eyes peeled for any changes in the flight announcement board. Nearly all the flights had been delayed due to the sudden snowstorm, the digital screen had caused an uproar among the thousands of people in the airport. Irritated executives who were once rapidly sending e-mails with their Blackberries began to phone up their secretaries. Unsettled individuals bombarded the information counter with complaints, raising their voices and snapping at the receptionists in frustration.

All I did was sit and observe the entire commotion. I wanted to reach home as soon as possible and this wait was keeping me worried. This was my first time going back home and the weather was already tormenting me. Crossing my fingers, I tried to maintain the hope that all the village people had given me.

“We will wait for you, Dr Claire. Bye, bye!” cried the children, who had lined up neatly in two rows, waving at me as I entered the old white van. The children had smiles which shone from within their heart. For two years, I have not gone back home ever since I was assigned to a post in the jungles of Brazil. The children there were uneducated and all the villagers had no access to proper medical care while the nearest hospital was a bumpy two-hour drive away from the village. My job was to teach the village children and provide all the villagers proper medical care.

I was now stuck in the JFK airport in New York. I was supposed to have boarded a flight to Kuala Lumpur an hour ago, if the snowstorm had not struck the place. My heart felt heavy when I thought of my grandfather back home. A week ago, he had been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease. Slowly, he would forget almost everything he had went through in his life. My grandfather was truly a great man. He had raised my sister and I single-handedly after our parents’ deaths and his optimism pulled us through the tough times and rough patches in our lives. Everyday, he worked diligently in his small shop selling watches, earning money for our sake. Yet he never complained, not even once, he just told us to do our best and make him the proudest grandfather in the world.

When we were younger, my sister and I would observe him at work, creeping up to him the closest we could without creating any disturbances. As he pieced each part of a watch, he would put all his focus into his work, right until the very moment they clicked together perfectly and the watch would begin to tick quietly. Once he had finished, his brown eyes would twinkle and a wide smile would creep onto his face. Whenever he closed his shop for the week, my grandfather would bring us for a treat at a stall nearby.

In Brazil, I had called him once a week to check up on him. His cheery voice was always encouraging and he convinced me that he was all right. This picture of assurance had shattered when I received the grave news from my sister. How did we miss the fact that he was becoming more forgetful day by day? Pain and guilt struck me all at once. My lips were trembling when I asked my sister regarding his mental state. I had left my beloved grandfather alone for two years, our only means of communication were through letters and phone calls. I was not there to monitor his condition, therefore my conscience was stained with shame.

Out of the blue, the words on the digital screen changed. The snowstorm had finally cleared up and my flight would be leaving in 15 minutes. Before I made my way towards the exit gate, I ran to a vacant pay phone as fast as I could. With quivering fingers, I inserted my coins and punched in the most important phone number which was etched into my mind.

“Grandpa, I am coming home,” I cried out in joy.

“I know. I will be waiting for you, Claire,” my grandfather replied good-naturedly.

The sound of this one man’s voice was enough to make my eyes water. The way back home would be halfway around the world, taking around 12 hours. By the time, I would be able to reach home, it would be another day. A new day in which I would be reunited with my dear grandfather. As long as I can see him, embrace his frail old body and see his friendly face, I would have peace in my heart as I would be able to repay him for his kindness, not because I feel indebted to him, but because he is my beloved grandfather.