Today, I attended a wake. A few days ago, my eldest uncle, the husband of my mum's eldest sis, passed away after suffering a serious post-operation infection. He was in his 70s.
My mum has got several siblings, many of whom live in the same neighbourhood. So when I was a kid, I got to play with many of my cousins whenever I visited any of my aunts. I still remember my eldest uncle's smiling face -- he's one of those with a compassionate, loving grandpa sort of look. I wasn't emotionally close enough to him to be badly affected by the news of his demise, but it did leave a sinking feeling in my heart. Particularly when I was at his wake earlier this afternoon.
It's been several years since I last met my relatives on my mum's side. It's ironic that it's got to be a sad occasion to bring us all together again. My mum does keep in touch with her siblings, but hardly do we all gather round at the same event. At the wake, everyone appeared ok. There were smiles and laughter, and lots of chatting, especially among those in the same age group. Not all my cousins turned up, but those who were there with my sis and I were all pretty quiet, except for a couple of chatty ones. Even as the older ones reminisced some of the funny things that happened when my cousins and I used to play together as kids, we just smiled politely.
It's surprising how time can heal wounds, but also how it can distance people who used to be very close.
Then, I observed my eldest aunt. She spent most of the time sitting at a separate table, talking to some others. However, several times, whenever anyone at our table rose to say goodbye to her, she would make the effort to gently but firmly lead him/her back to the table, saying "Stay a while longer. Have dinner before you go." No one had the heart to say no to her.
I wondered if, despite her many children and grandchildren around her, she was lonely deep down. Perhaps the more people around, the less empty she felt.
Where I was sitting, I could see the back gate of her kitchen, which would swing open and shut whenever she or her children went in to take something. I could still remember vividly what her flat looked like. I was thinking how terrible it must feel to be still staying in the same place where she had stayed with her beloved husband for decades, where everywhere she goes would remind her of the times when her husband was still around.
How cruel death is. Death does not simply rob one of life. It also leaves one's loved ones shattered within.
As I thought of these, I felt so sad. I felt sad for my eldest aunt. I felt sad for my third aunt who was there too, and whose husband's wake we attended years ago. I felt sad for all those whose loved ones left before them, and whose lives would never be the same again. Worst of all, I felt sad for myself, as I put myself in these people's shoes and imagined the people I love no longer around (touch wood, touch wood).
How many deaths does it take for us to realise how much we should cherish the ones we still have while we can? Treat them nicely. Love them with all your heart. Give them a smile when we see them, and a hug when they are feeling down.
Love can be expressed in so many ways, but whatever it is, it must be clearly communicated to touch the other party.
Now, I only hope time can focus on doing one of the things it does often -- heal my eldest aunt well. And meanwhile, I shall learn to love even better.
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