Yesterday, when I was having dinner at Raffles City, a SMS came in and it said, “Grandma passed away.”
This is the third death in my family in the last two months. Before the church camp in June, it was my uncle and I arranged the funeral, single-handedly. Within two days, he was cremated.
I offered my organizational skills and put it to good use. That was the only thing I could offer to those who were grieving. I was clean, deft, efficient and fast. Everything went well and smoothly. There were no complications. I should be proud but I was not because I felt inadequate that the only thing I could offer was my management skills, which I have honed to perfection throughout my years of building a career, which helped me a few years back to be promoted twice within one year, which helped me to bring in some monetary rewards that allowed me to finance myself through an expensive US education.
Those skills were useless to my father, in helping him deal with his grief. Those skills are useless to me. I had given up that race a couple of years back - a wise move.
I saw my father called out my uncle’s name when we were collecting his body. He called out his name twice. I knew he was hoping that my uncle would respond, that he would sit up and tell him he was faking death and that the doctors had made a mistake. But my uncle didn’t. His body laid there still and lifeless. The body didn’t respond. My father placed his finger on my uncle’s half-opened eye and tried to close it. When he couldn’t after a few tries, he was a little upset and he asked the funeral director I had appointed who was standing nearby, “Why like that?” The director answered gently, “Don’t worry I will fix it.”
During that time, I ran through different images that I had conjured of what it was like for my father when he heard the news of my uncle's death. There was an image of my father sitting on the couch staring into space while other relatives were discussing on how the funeral should be done, another one of my father packing my uncle’s stuff and putting his things away, and another one of my father recalling the times he had with my uncle, and another one of my father…….
Throughout the two days arranging the funeral, I was with my father, I heard him relate one story after another about my uncle when we were taking rests in between arranging the funeral. I saw his sadness building up after each story, reaching new heights. I squeezed his arms each time and laid my hand on his arm and sometimes his shoulder, hoping that some kind of a diffusion would occur that some pain would be passed on to me, relieving him of some. But it didn’t occur. It was only my wishful thinking. It was only my utter ignorance of pain and its process. Pain, I realized, cannot be taken away, it can only be shared.
I was sorrowful, less so for the death of my uncle, more so for not bringing my father to salvation earlier so that dealing with my uncle’s death would be easier for him. Anything would be easier if you have God to lean on, like I always have for so many years. I didn’t share with him the best thing I have in my life – the perfect salvation.
Then I came back from church camp and I was told that my cousin’s husband had passed away. The cremation was over by the time I returned home. Again, there was nothing I could do.
I had the same regrets when I stared at my grandma’s body yesterday night. She was small, very small. I didn't realised she had shrunk to that size, like someone had drawn a significant amount of substance from her body, leaving us with her thin and frail. My grandma was not saved was the only thing that kept screaming in my head. She was not saved.
My mom looked a little sad yesterday. But when she saw me, she cheered up a bit and asked me about an interview I went yesterday morning. All she could ask was “Are you going to Beijing to work? Why not? How about Hong Kong?”
“No I am not going. I don’t like Beijing. I don’t like Hong Kong.”
“No mom, I am not going. The interview went well today. Thank you.”
“Yes, they asked. I said no.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t want to, mom.”
“But YH is there now in Beijing reporting for the newspapers. She is having a good time there. Why don’t you go? Good for your career.”
“Yes, mom. But I am not going. Please.”
Because mom, you are too important to me. I want you to know God, so that a death could be a beginning of an eternity and not the end.
