The farewell

Pictures of my uncle flashed across a large display. Pictures of when he was younger, pictures posing with my aunt, posing with my cousins, posing with the grandchildren. The pictures told a story, recounted times gone by, moments disappeared, and memories that would forever fade were it not for the pictures that managed to capture them and later remind those still around of the simple, kind man who once lived touched the lives of so many...

It poured as the ceremony proceeded. Relatives came from all over the country to pay final respects. My uncle's colleagues, friends, and even the mayor of the city and various councillors arrived after the private ceremony to offer incense and fruits and drinks. He was an educator, a father, a husband. My cousins read out personal letters describing his kindness. He liked to share, my cousin remembered. Whenever he read an inspiration piece in the newspaper, he would cut it out and send it to family ad friends. My mum has many of such cuttings in her drawer, and the other day I saw one my uncle sent her back in November last year. There was a letter accompanying the newspaper cut out in which my uncle encouraged my mum, and told her she has done well raising two fine children.

My cousin described the final moments, how, as my uncle struggled and breathed laboriously, he kept on telling my uncle "Breathe normally, we're almost home..." (Tradition says it's best when one is nearing the final moment to be brought to the comfort and familiarity of home...)

Various people from the funeral service walked around and handed people tissues to wipe away their tears. From the corner of my eye I saw brother crying. He was clearly moved, and perhaps painful saw in the flower arrangements, in the huge calligraphy writings that adorned the make-shift altar, and in the presence of so many people all gathered to pay final respects that one day it will be his/our turn... One day, it will be my brother and I standing there in black, bowing silently one by one to those who come and offer incense, foods, flowers and fruits.

I stood and watched the ceremony, as if I were a bystander, merely a bystander. I was moved, yet not to tears. My uncle is gone now, I remember hearing in my mind, "May he be at ease and go peacefully..." I stood and fantasised and wondered how it will be when it it is my turn... Will there be someone at my side? Will there be someone to hold my hand? Will I be as calm and as dry as I am now? What a thing to think about at my uncle's final farewell...!

On the train home, I used the opportunity to speak to brother. "See how quickly it happens, how quickly people go..." I told him to really treasure the time he has with mum, to try to be there more, to do more for her. "Even if just sitting by her side means a lot... And a little touch can be so comforting and take away a little of her pains..." I said. I hoped that he would heed my words, and be more "touching"... as in touch mum more, feel her skin, touch her body, her hands, her feet. "It would mean so much to her..."