Cold. Somber. The pitter patter of the rain splashes muddy water on his rain boots.

Why did it have to rain when he visits his grandmother's grave?

Tipping back his umbrella with just a little movement from its curved handle, he looks up the cloudy dark-gray sky, steady soft drops hitting his forehead.

Halmonie, I miss you so.

He can't tell if the droplets rolling down his cheeks are tears or the rain but he knows, for sure, that he still feels devastated losing his grandma to a war...a war not fought by soldiers but by doctors and nurses.