The past few days have been a whirlwind of activity. Time consumed by travelling back and forth. Chatter of family members coming and going, each murmuring a solemn "I'm sorry for your loss". Sometimes they talk about the past. Trading memories of a time long ago. Those stories I like to listen to, they bring the dead closer to the living. Reminds us that they once were alive and vibrant.
You may be gone from this world, but your memory lives on.
Last Sunday, I became grandfather-less. Well, at least in this world. But in reality, I am rich in the love and heritage from both my grandfathers. I am both grieving and thankful, having had the privilege of 26 years of grandfatherly affection, and with that, 26 years of memories with him that hurts my heart now. The thought that after Thursday, I only have the photos and my memory left to remember his face by, is sad.
My grandfather.
The oldest son in his family. The adopted son. Yet they loved him as their own. My grandfather was the undisputed head of the family clan. I remember chinese new year gatherings where the family would visit en masse. And though I use to loathe family gatherings, I now look back at them fondly. They were necessary. They are. Or how would we hold on to family ties, even if the person is my grandaunt's daughter's son's wife? Blood is still thicker than water.
Everyone has a different memory of him. As a father, an uncle, a brother, a grandfather. But all say the same things, that is he was a kind and caring man, and he was meticulous to a fault. A peek into his accounts book is testament to his careful nature. I remember he would take the time to do his accounts every night after dinner. That would also be the time he would spend chatting with my parents and other "grown ups" over a mug of coffee. As my mind unearths more and more images from the past, I am determined that the future generations shall know him for the man he is. Was.
When he could still drive, he would go out every month or so to run errands and replenish the sweet jar. I think this is where i get my love for black hacks from. And he would buy this most delicious asam that no matter where I look, I can never find again. But not before making sure he had on his Sunday outfit; a white shirt and tan trousers, and neatly slicking back his hair with Bryl Cream. It was a standing joke in my family that when Ah Kong started styling his hair, he was "going SOMEWHERE". It's adorable that he brought traits from his generation (i'm guessing his heyday was in the 40's and 50's) to the present. But those qualities also taught me about respecting people through dressing neatly and presentably.
I have many many more memories of him, with him... but they would take far to long to go through one by one. I guess what I really want to say throughout this long litany is... I miss you Ah Kong. I started missing you the day you had your second stroke and couldn't talk or move anymore. Because to me, that was when the real you had left. But today, I want to say, even your presence then was comforting, and it will hurt more to go to your house after this and not being able to call "Ah Kong!" anymore. Because it won't be the same without you.
And thank you.
I love you.
Goodbye.
You may be gone from this world, but your memory lives on.
Last Sunday, I became grandfather-less. Well, at least in this world. But in reality, I am rich in the love and heritage from both my grandfathers. I am both grieving and thankful, having had the privilege of 26 years of grandfatherly affection, and with that, 26 years of memories with him that hurts my heart now. The thought that after Thursday, I only have the photos and my memory left to remember his face by, is sad.
My grandfather.
The oldest son in his family. The adopted son. Yet they loved him as their own. My grandfather was the undisputed head of the family clan. I remember chinese new year gatherings where the family would visit en masse. And though I use to loathe family gatherings, I now look back at them fondly. They were necessary. They are. Or how would we hold on to family ties, even if the person is my grandaunt's daughter's son's wife? Blood is still thicker than water.
Everyone has a different memory of him. As a father, an uncle, a brother, a grandfather. But all say the same things, that is he was a kind and caring man, and he was meticulous to a fault. A peek into his accounts book is testament to his careful nature. I remember he would take the time to do his accounts every night after dinner. That would also be the time he would spend chatting with my parents and other "grown ups" over a mug of coffee. As my mind unearths more and more images from the past, I am determined that the future generations shall know him for the man he is. Was.
When he could still drive, he would go out every month or so to run errands and replenish the sweet jar. I think this is where i get my love for black hacks from. And he would buy this most delicious asam that no matter where I look, I can never find again. But not before making sure he had on his Sunday outfit; a white shirt and tan trousers, and neatly slicking back his hair with Bryl Cream. It was a standing joke in my family that when Ah Kong started styling his hair, he was "going SOMEWHERE". It's adorable that he brought traits from his generation (i'm guessing his heyday was in the 40's and 50's) to the present. But those qualities also taught me about respecting people through dressing neatly and presentably.
I have many many more memories of him, with him... but they would take far to long to go through one by one. I guess what I really want to say throughout this long litany is... I miss you Ah Kong. I started missing you the day you had your second stroke and couldn't talk or move anymore. Because to me, that was when the real you had left. But today, I want to say, even your presence then was comforting, and it will hurt more to go to your house after this and not being able to call "Ah Kong!" anymore. Because it won't be the same without you.
And thank you.
I love you.
Goodbye.
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