On Goodbyes

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.