My maternal grandfather passed away when I was 12, in Primary 6. It was my first experience with death. I remembered not crying at all. This was rather odd since I sobbed rather easily (watching crappy tv shows, reading chicken soup for the soul). The adults around me were much more upset. I recalled playing cards with my cousins while everyone else busied themselves with the HDB style void deck funeral.
When he was about to die, my mom asked me whether I wanted to go see/say goodbye (i.e. walked down a few flight of stairs to my grandfather's place). I didn't go because I said I was afraid. I wasn't really afraid. Perhaps I was somewhat hesitant to confront death. I don't know. Sometimes, I wished I went although I didn't think it would have mattered to my grandfather. I saw him a couple of hours before his death and a few minutes after his death. Just not at that very moment of death. I'm so curious (I know, it is so inappropriate) about death.
When I was younger, my grandfather used to show me cats around the neighbourhood. And he used to fold his cigarette boxes into little containers. I was fond of the smell and texture of the cigarette boxes. Yar, the cigarettes probably killed him before his time. I remembered that my grandfather once made some contraption with some rubber bands and plastic (maybe a rubber band around the tires of a truck / bicycle) to entertain me and my brother. I tried to do it myself but never got it to work.
I sometimes wished I was religious so I could reassure myself that there is life after death. For now, I have the certainty of ambiguity. Blah! I have so many questions for my grandfather (and also my paternal grandparents + great grandparents) but I don't think the questions would matter once I'm not alive. If souls exist, do they have existential crises? That's a rather funny thought.
1 comment:
You know, you should probably think about talking to your parents more.
As we grow up, they are growing older. Soon, we will have to confront their mortality too.
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