On this night 8 years ago, Pa passed away peacefully at the Assisi Home and Hospice. At this time 8 years ago, I was waiting with him downstairs for the casket to arrive while the rest of the family was busy making the funeral arrangements. His body was wrapped in a sheet of white cloth and was resting on a cloth stretcher that was placed on top of 2 wooden benches. I remember seeing the slight buldge at his bottom and was wondering if what I was seeing was the tumour sagging at his bottom.
And I thought to myself....what will my life be without him now?
We busied ourselves with the funeral over the next five days. There was so much to do. We had to get his death certificate done, put up the obituary in the papers, cater for our meals from the vegeratian caterer that came along with Ang Chin Moh Caskets, pack the packet drinks and mineral water into the large refrigerator, wrap two 10-cent coins with red paper, spread white sheets of plastic over the tables, layout an assortment of sweets, melon seeds and peanuts at each table and ensure that there were pieces of red string and tiny packets of 20 cents on each plate, call up my dad's old friends to inform them about his passing, receive condolence wreaths from delivery men, ensure that all expenses were properly recorded in the Expenses Book provided by ACM casket, guard the tin of money where we put all donations collected, count the donations at appropriate times to clear the tin and send the cash upstairs for safe-keeping, put out mattresses in my living room floor for relatives to rest when they stay the night, bring the hot water boiler downstairs so we could make coffee or hot drinks whenever we needed, ensure that all left-overs from meals are properly disposed so as not to attract cats or pests, clear the tables when friends and other relatives leave after their visits. All this, on top of having to spend hours in Buddhist prayer and chants with the monks from Bee Low See Temple, which could stretch from 7:00pm all the way to 10:00pm with 10-15 minute breaks in between.
The sheer exhaustion from the running of the funeral left us little time to check our emotions and to feel the sense of loss. The only times when I really cried my heart out was when I had some private moments. These only happened when I took showers, when I just stayed away from the funeral for awhile and sat somewhere else at the void deck, or when I was sitting inside the tent next to Pa's casket.
Grieve does not really happen at a funeral. Not because you're not sad, but because you're so physically exhausted that you have no time or energy to check your emotions nor to feel any loss. Grieve takes place slowly, awhile after the loved one has left. When the space left behind is too empty and stark.
The worst part of the funeral was the cremation. Technology 8 years ago was not as advanced. Trolleys that supported the caskets were old, unoiled and rickety. The wheels squeaked as the men pushed my dad's casket into the cremation chamber and we were all ushered into the viewing room to witness the process. Ma, Sis, Bro and I huddled together and held hands. My bro had his arm around me. I was whimpering like a kitten. Then the door to the furnace opened and the men aligned the height of the trolley to that of the entrance of the furnace. Without a warning, one of the men gave a strong push and the casket rolled into the furnace.
"Grong Grong Grong Grong Grong!!"
I felt my legs collapse beneath me. Nothing prepared us for that terrible sound, together with the thought of the fire and my dad's being in it was just too much to bear. We sobbed uncontrollably. Relatives huddled around us and helped us to our feet. My aunt held onto to me tightly as she ushered me out of that room.
Words cannot describe that pain.
There were still things to do after the funeral. We had to get back to the void deck to clear our things. The Buddhist monks had to come to our home and help us to set a separate altar next to our altar for the Goddese of Mercy. Pa's photo was put there and we were instructed to lay 3 simple vegetarian dishes and a bowl of rice for him. The mini-player for Buddhist chants was turned on at a slightly audible volume, whispering continously the calm Buddhist chants that will fill the house in the quiet of the night. Our family was to be vegetarian for a total of 99 days (if I remember the number of days correctly).
That night, Ma and I could not sleep. We tried to watch TV in the living room but the discomfort was eminent. Something was simply missing. Things did not seem quite right. We could not go back to the room to sleep, especially for Ma. She spent the night out on the sofa in the living room and I dragged a mattress out and lay next to her there.
The empty space left behind was so hollow. Like a vacuum that cannot be filled. A memory too painful to recall at that moment.
I miss Pa alot. I miss his voice, his smile, his jokes, his stern look, his signature snort and cough, his mischievousness, his advice, his approvals of our good behaviour when we were young, his way of showing us some of life's greatest values and virtues through example and not instruction. I remember kissing him on his cheek even when I was already 22. It's something that we all have with our dad. We'd show affection by giving him pecks on the cheek, be it a goodnight kiss or whatever.
Today, I spent sometime remembering him and honouring him in my heart. I no longer cry as much now. I still will, I know, when I miss him tremendously. But just for today, there are no tears. Just memories. Some fond, some nostalgic, some bitter-sweet. And I want to blog and re-blog these events every year, as far as I can, because I never want to forget. I never want to forget because once you lose the memories, then everything is gone forever....