From apprehension to inaction, and then inaction to hapless circumstance, I haven't been able to write.
And now, roughly three weeks after gong gong was hospitalised and one day after his wake, I'm here. Not to document the grisly details that have been the past weeks of avid hospital-visiting, tear-stained jeans and inaccurately-timed bad news, but instead, to leave a dog-ear in the pages of my February 2017.
My grandpa died last Saturday, just after midnight. In the last few hours of his life, he was unresponsive, eyes fixed heaven-ward, breathing in gaps (not gasps). It seemed near then. I didn't know how anyone could leave. I didn't want him to be alone in his final few minutes. But still we drove home after dinner, a dull feeling of darkness in the pit of my stomach and in between my eyes. And I willed myself to picture God standing next to him, holding his hand. I willed myself to believe that he wasn't afraid, that he didn't feel and, more importantly, wasn't alone.
His hands were cold and clammy seven minutes after his death. He was yellow. My dad kept muttering to himself about how tortuous it must have been. My aunt came in, stroked his head, told him to rest well, and that we'd see him again in heaven.
His arms were still warm.
The wake was attended by many. I said it seemed like the most epic Chinese New Year gathering, one where everyone's guests were gathered together. Flower wreaths were sent. We placed a garden around his head. His face was plastered in a smile. The make-up concealed all traces of decay. He looks good, I thought to myself. He looks good with some colour on him. Must be some expensive make-up.
I also puzzled over the incidence of dead bees that scattered the grounds of the parlour. Bees, I get. But dead bees?
Huey said that the funeral and the cremation would be the worst. That bodies fell onto knees, that people would wail uncontrollably, their hearts in their mouths, their fists on the glass. Eyes on the ground, tears swirling in a pool of unrepressed sorrow, grief and, for the unfortunate, guilt. But his cremation was... OK. Anti-climatic at best. We were ushered from the viewing gallery abruptly. And it was over.
Lives have started up again. Appetites have not fallen away, laughs and smiles dot the conversations of preparation-making for the niche that will house gong gong's ashes. Everyone seems great. And so, it's time to switch gears. Time to get back to friends, to answering messages, to finishing work, to growing old.
There are so many things I've experienced and felt over the past few weeks. Part of me is unwilling to embark on fully fleshing out the story because I simply won't have the stamina to. Another part - a smaller one - isn't too sure if I really need to remember everything anyway.
Because, just like everything else - with the only exception being God and His kingdom - everything shall pass.
No comments:
Post a Comment