Faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen. - Hebrews 11:1 ♥
Saturday, 23 February 2008 9:17 pm
"I am the resurrection and the life; he who believes in Me shall live even when he dies."
John 11:25
my paternal grandmother passed away on 20 Feb, a Wednesday morning. she was 84. when my mom called me at 8.30am, she said, "Ah ma died." i was speechless for a few seconds. then i started to cry.
the nights of the funeral and church service were the longest nights i've experienced. we've never had a death of a direct or close relative happen to us before. the suddeness of it all was what we couldn't bear. my grandmother's death affected me more than i thought it would. she used to give me chinese tuition and i used to go over during the holidays. those were my primary school days. though we weren't that close, the sense of attachment is still there somehow. from what i heard my parents say, she complained of chest pains and breathing difficulties on wednesday morning, she went to rest in bed and never woke up again... for her it's a relief of sorts because she hadn't suffered, her departure was quick. but for the rest of us who didn't get a chance to even bid her goodbye properly, letting her go was just so, so difficult.
death is part of life, we all know that. while its existence is a permanent fixture, its nature is unpredictable and sudden... extremely and terrifyingly so.
the funeral lasted 2 nights at singapore casket... the first night was quite bad because i couldn't even bring myself to look at my grandma's photograph, much less her face. shaking the hands of relatives and strangers alike was one of the strangest feelings. there were firm handshakes, extremely hard ones (most were like this) and some were just a mere grasp of a few fingers. people tried to convey to so much in a single handshake- sympathy, condolences, assurance... shaking hands with relatives was ironically more awkward than with strangers. we let out a short laugh, an abrupt smile...not because we were particularly glad to see each other but simply because we don't know what else to do. on friday afternoon, we gathered for the last time around my grandma before the cremation. that was when the torrent of tears just came out of nowhere. not just for me but for everyone in the family too. i stared at her face for as long as i could, as hard as i could in case i forget how she looked when she's sleeping. i watched as my grandpa took a final look at his wife. i watched as he bent so close to the glass screen that his tears fell onto it. i watched as he tried so damn hard to see his loved one a final time even though his eyesight is failing him. i watched until i couldn't see anymore.
we walked for a short distance behind the van that carried her casket. it was like we were guiding her on her way back to heaven. the cremation at mandai was simple and...clean, for the lack of a better word. her caksket was carried by this automated machine for a distance before a door opened to a part where we couldn't see. the flames, undoubtedly. we watched her go from a room above. it's better that way, i suppose... or else i wonder how many hearts would break anew.
before my grandmother's passing, death to me was often just another stranger's face in the obituaries. so distant and disconnected from our lives. but now when i look at those faces i try to think of them as someone's parents or grandparents or aunt or uncle or cousin or friend. ah ma's death has taught me a few things... one of which being- to the world you may be nobody, but to somebody (or many people) you are the world. though i wouldn't say she was the world to me, but she's definitely somebody close to our hearts.
John 11:25
my paternal grandmother passed away on 20 Feb, a Wednesday morning. she was 84. when my mom called me at 8.30am, she said, "Ah ma died." i was speechless for a few seconds. then i started to cry.
the nights of the funeral and church service were the longest nights i've experienced. we've never had a death of a direct or close relative happen to us before. the suddeness of it all was what we couldn't bear. my grandmother's death affected me more than i thought it would. she used to give me chinese tuition and i used to go over during the holidays. those were my primary school days. though we weren't that close, the sense of attachment is still there somehow. from what i heard my parents say, she complained of chest pains and breathing difficulties on wednesday morning, she went to rest in bed and never woke up again... for her it's a relief of sorts because she hadn't suffered, her departure was quick. but for the rest of us who didn't get a chance to even bid her goodbye properly, letting her go was just so, so difficult.
death is part of life, we all know that. while its existence is a permanent fixture, its nature is unpredictable and sudden... extremely and terrifyingly so.
the funeral lasted 2 nights at singapore casket... the first night was quite bad because i couldn't even bring myself to look at my grandma's photograph, much less her face. shaking the hands of relatives and strangers alike was one of the strangest feelings. there were firm handshakes, extremely hard ones (most were like this) and some were just a mere grasp of a few fingers. people tried to convey to so much in a single handshake- sympathy, condolences, assurance... shaking hands with relatives was ironically more awkward than with strangers. we let out a short laugh, an abrupt smile...not because we were particularly glad to see each other but simply because we don't know what else to do. on friday afternoon, we gathered for the last time around my grandma before the cremation. that was when the torrent of tears just came out of nowhere. not just for me but for everyone in the family too. i stared at her face for as long as i could, as hard as i could in case i forget how she looked when she's sleeping. i watched as my grandpa took a final look at his wife. i watched as he bent so close to the glass screen that his tears fell onto it. i watched as he tried so damn hard to see his loved one a final time even though his eyesight is failing him. i watched until i couldn't see anymore.
we walked for a short distance behind the van that carried her casket. it was like we were guiding her on her way back to heaven. the cremation at mandai was simple and...clean, for the lack of a better word. her caksket was carried by this automated machine for a distance before a door opened to a part where we couldn't see. the flames, undoubtedly. we watched her go from a room above. it's better that way, i suppose... or else i wonder how many hearts would break anew.
before my grandmother's passing, death to me was often just another stranger's face in the obituaries. so distant and disconnected from our lives. but now when i look at those faces i try to think of them as someone's parents or grandparents or aunt or uncle or cousin or friend. ah ma's death has taught me a few things... one of which being- to the world you may be nobody, but to somebody (or many people) you are the world. though i wouldn't say she was the world to me, but she's definitely somebody close to our hearts.
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