Till death do us part
A Eulogy for my grandmother, Anne Suen Oi Chun
My maternal grandmother had many siblings, but she was unable to stay in contact with any after her mother chose her, only her to travel from China to Singapore at a young age in search of greener pastures. Since then, she led a tough life and got married to a philandering husband who was never around to lend a helping hand to support their 7 children.
She was also the nicer grandmother, who cared for her grandchildren, but whose grandchildren weren’t really able to relate to her. This applied to the younger grandchildren and well also me. It is a great pity that my youngest cousins would never get a chance to experience any kinship with their grandmother. To not have her gently nag at them, or even listen to one of her old-age stories, a misconception I always have, thanks to the movies. It never happened, at least in my record. She spoke Cantonese which I understood but could never speak in complete sentences. This language barrier contributed to the widening gap I felt with her over the years. Warmth could hardly seep through even though I did show my due respect and greetings.
News of her gradual wither from cancer came across when I was on my exchange in Switzerland. Her wick of life was burning up, gradually but surely. I spoke to her through a skype landline call, in Mandarin. After several minutes of seeming encouragements- advising her to stay cheerful and also sharing the optimistic analogy of death and parting from “Tuesdays with Morrie”, she blurted out that she did not really understand me. Through the long-distance conversation, did our communication breakdown become even more apparent. She did not break down, but I did. Partly from the inner fear and devastation that she might not hang in there before I got back to Singapore and mostly from my failed attempt to communicate.
She did hang in there till I returned. On one of her hallucinations in the hospital she referred to me in Cantonese, (which I would just write in Chinese,) “那个人是谁啊，她以为这里再开派对啊。叫她滚！”
I was an unfamiliar face, which she did not recognize. Probably because I was absent from Singapore for 6 months. It made me speechless and helpless, but I didn't blame her for that.
Her passing hit me pretty hard, as I was matured enough to understand what death is all about. My grandfathers passed away when I was in my kindergarten years, and I cried not because I understood but because misery was just hanging in the air. So shaken was I, that in the next few months, my eyes would get teary every time I see cancer in the news or hear cancer from any source.
Peering through the glass coffin, at her once rosy cheeks, which laid sunken, in full knowledge that she would feel ice cold if i were to touch her, deprived of a heartbeat, any single hint of life, I tried to draw a bridge from her living days to this lifeless body. How it had been, was and in the future, would never be. All I regretted was not being there for her when she needed me and not reaching out to her when I still had the chance to.
My maternal grandmother had many siblings, but she was unable to stay in contact with any after her mother chose her, only her to travel from China to Singapore at a young age in search of greener pastures. Since then, she led a tough life and got married to a philandering husband who was never around to lend a helping hand to support their 7 children.
She was also the nicer grandmother, who cared for her grandchildren, but whose grandchildren weren’t really able to relate to her. This applied to the younger grandchildren and well also me. It is a great pity that my youngest cousins would never get a chance to experience any kinship with their grandmother. To not have her gently nag at them, or even listen to one of her old-age stories, a misconception I always have, thanks to the movies. It never happened, at least in my record. She spoke Cantonese which I understood but could never speak in complete sentences. This language barrier contributed to the widening gap I felt with her over the years. Warmth could hardly seep through even though I did show my due respect and greetings.
News of her gradual wither from cancer came across when I was on my exchange in Switzerland. Her wick of life was burning up, gradually but surely. I spoke to her through a skype landline call, in Mandarin. After several minutes of seeming encouragements- advising her to stay cheerful and also sharing the optimistic analogy of death and parting from “Tuesdays with Morrie”, she blurted out that she did not really understand me. Through the long-distance conversation, did our communication breakdown become even more apparent. She did not break down, but I did. Partly from the inner fear and devastation that she might not hang in there before I got back to Singapore and mostly from my failed attempt to communicate.
She did hang in there till I returned. On one of her hallucinations in the hospital she referred to me in Cantonese, (which I would just write in Chinese,) “那个人是谁啊，她以为这里再开派对啊。叫她滚！”
I was an unfamiliar face, which she did not recognize. Probably because I was absent from Singapore for 6 months. It made me speechless and helpless, but I didn't blame her for that.
Her passing hit me pretty hard, as I was matured enough to understand what death is all about. My grandfathers passed away when I was in my kindergarten years, and I cried not because I understood but because misery was just hanging in the air. So shaken was I, that in the next few months, my eyes would get teary every time I see cancer in the news or hear cancer from any source.
Peering through the glass coffin, at her once rosy cheeks, which laid sunken, in full knowledge that she would feel ice cold if i were to touch her, deprived of a heartbeat, any single hint of life, I tried to draw a bridge from her living days to this lifeless body. How it had been, was and in the future, would never be. All I regretted was not being there for her when she needed me and not reaching out to her when I still had the chance to.