filling the void.

"Too many things have been happening these two weeks." That was what Daddy said to me when we were walking to the carpark, just the both of us.

Who knew we had to lose two people within a week? When the grief is still raw, someone else goes. Both sides of the family are in mourning. On the outside, everyone smiles and pretends that nothing happened, but the number of people breaking down inside is overwhelming.

Life is so precious and you learn that the hardest way.

"She passed away."

"He passed away this afternoon."

"Okay."

What else can you say?

On the first night of the wake, the pastor was talking to Daddy, and I was just sitting a few tables away, listening to every word and regretting so many things I've done the past years.

Pastor: 你们很疼你的妈妈。

Dad: What can I do? 只有一个母亲。

That just hit me in the gut.

It was the first time the adults were speaking so openly about her, and sis and I just quietly listened from the side. They talked about the food she cooked, the dialects she spoke, her fashion sense and everything else I never got to see, hear or experience. On the final day, my dad's cousin-in-law just came up to me and said, "I had the privilege of trying her food, before her stroke." I wish I could say the same.

The day before she left us, I didn't visit her. Sis and I had work to do, so we just said, "next week". That next week never came. It's a relief, after 20 years of suffering. No more pain for her. She's finally healed, up there. Yet, even when we prepared ourselves for the worst, it still hurts.

And for the first time, we sat down as a family and talked about death openly. In her final months, she was on a feeding tube. We could have chosen not to let her have the feeding tube, then she'll go earlier. But removing it was equivalent to starving her. And having the tube there, it's letting her suffer more so that we could get more days with her. 

Did we increase the misery of her days without increasing the number of it? I'm not sure, and I hope not.

An hour after I found out she left us, I wrote this:

Is the family gonna fall apart from grief? When both parents are no longer around us physically, do the ties between siblings cease to exist? When we lose a set of our grandparents, do we stop having cousins and aunts and uncles?

It was only on the day of the funeral when I finally grasped the fact that she was gone. I was prepared, no doubt, but it was so hard for sis and I to accept it. She's in a better place, that's all we can tell each other. Nothing more.

Another wake being held just a week after her passing. I don't think anyone's handling it fine.

All along, we knew that they were dying.

Knowing, understanding and acceptance are totally different things.

"I hope you will remember her forever." Daddy said.

I wanted to give a eulogy for her during the service, but I knew I wouldn't be able to control my emotions. This is my tribute to her:

In my fifteen years, I've never heard her voice or seen her walk, but she knows of your presence. She looks at you when you hold her hand, you don't have to speak to get a response. Once in a while, she squeezes your hand back - she understands. That was how we communicated for years, and she lives through the stories Dad and Mum tell once in a while. It's not everything, but it's good enough. She's special, and she is the reason why I've always wanted to do social work. Rest in peace, ah ma, I'll remember you.

And to my great-uncle: We lost you today. I've never gotten to know you well, but every time we met, you would pamper us with gifts. I'm sorry you had to suffer these few months, but I knew you were happy. Rest well.