Goodbye

I was never that close to my paternal grandma. So when I held the incense burner and her photo, it felt strange. It is like discovering a part of you which is so inherent and yet alien. She was someone I wished I could have gotten to know better. Yet I was glad that this distance made her passing bearable. When my maternal gran left me, I almost took 2 years to stop feeling sick. I conceal things well so the grief was not apparent.

I called out to her as instructed by the undertaker. Beware of the bridges, come home and bless your offsprings. It was a very natural thing, her passing away because she had been so old. Yet I still vividly remember the younger days when I was just a toddler or just growing up. Ageing begins exponentially once you go past a certain age. As a kid, you always looked forward to visiting your grandparents. I was no exception and really liked going to see her. The house was always so mystical and full of drawers and cupboards for me to explore.

Thursday night was sad. Because there were many people crying around me. We were too late to the hospital. A sort of lifelessness and paleness was there in the bed waiting for us. The veins no longer pulsate with each beat of the heart because there will no longer be any more contractions. The color had gone and while I held her hand, I was no longer holding any part of my grandmother. There was a tinge of sadness, a kind of sourness that made my eyes sting. No tears. But my heart broke at the sound of the wailings around me. Sadness can be perfectly conveyed through desolate sobs.

I felt sad because I was never her favourite. I was never the closest to her in the family. The yearly chinese new year visits had ceased. Though I made one or two trips to check out how she was, they were more of an obligation to my dad. yes I was fulfiling an obligation. Yet it was still an act of love. because I knew and understood how he felt. How painful it is to lose one's closest. I made sure while my dad cannot walk the final distance with his mother, I represented him. The prayers and joss sticks were duly offered. The kowtows and offerings of vegetarian food were made. I am sorry that I felt the sorrow as a channel and not the vessel. Because I knew it hurts to have so much love and still ultimately lose it. I dare not love her.

A strange thought came to me at the funeral. Looking around, most of the family are older than me. How many of their departures must I witness before I cease to be? Indeed to be human is to be suffering. While someone optimistically put it : when you enter this world, you are crying and everyone is smiling. When you leave, you are smiling and everyone else is crying. He forgot the grief and hopelessness often present during the final goodbye. Do we gain emotional freedom by not loving? No attachment to anything tangible. To want to ease suffering only because it is the right thing to do and not because you want to?