When I first heard the news of my grandfather's death I was in my office in London. I was in a small usually unused room in one end of the office trying to bring my flight earlier so I could make it for the funeral and Parm, an British-born Punjabi happened to walk by. He was hoping to have his lunch and read a magazine in that same room.
After letting me cry a little, he asked me to tell him memories of my grandfather, which made me cry even more and in my head I was wondering why was this idiot trying to make me cry harder.
But after that, I realised that there was something about remembering those who have gone before us that gives a degree of solace. I wonder what it is; I haven't put my finger to it yet.
As the days passed, more and more memories started trickling back to me.
I remember him bending down towards me when I was still a small kid grinning at me, wearing his usual boxer shorts that he always wears around the house and his hair always combed to the side with gel. I remember he would always rub his back against the pillar in the back of the house like a cat to scratch his back.
I remember he took me to my cousin KaiChi's concert and we sat in the front rows while we waited for her turn to come out to the stage. And I remember she came out crawling as she was supposed to act like a baby, and I jumped out of my seat and called out her name very loudly and pointed to her as I turned to look at my grandfather excitedly.
I remember we were at the back of his textile store and he grabbed my small hand to rub it against his stubble on his chin and I remember squealing because it was sharp and prickly. I remember sitting in the living room when he came home in the evening and he whistled like a bird. He could whistle so well!
I remember every morning and evening when he came home from taichi and work, I would stand at the grill door and excitedly shout out to him, "Yeh Yeh! Chou Ahn!" and "Wahn Ahn!"
And he would respond back with a shout and greet me in return.
I remember as we waited in the car for my grandma, he turned around and grinned at me and asked if he should find a new girlfriend, and I jumped up from the seat and shouted indignantly, "No! Cannot!" and he just laughed.
I remember asking him about the past, and he was recounting of WWII, where the bombs fell in Taiping, and of his arranged marriage with my grandmother, who he claimed was the second most fairest girl in town at that time.
I'm glad I have all these memories of him, and only wished I had more. I was crying so hard during the funeral, I felt my younger cousins trying not to stare but stealing furtive glances at me, looking a little puzzled as to why I was so overwrought. But KaiChi, who is my age and was raised in Taiping where my grandfather lived, came up from behind and patted my shoulder in understanding. It's a shame my younger cousins never got a chance to know our grandfather the way the older cousins did.
I'm glad for many things, and it has been a rather emotional rollercoaster the last few weeks with the funeral, and the visa and things. But today I feel a lot more at peace with things. I think I'm also partly tired of worrying about things that I have no control over. And the one verse that has been the cornerstone of peace for me is Romans 8:28 - "For all things work for the good of those who love Him and are called according to His will."
And God has not once proven Himself false to that as that promise has even stretched beyond the years of me being a Christian.
Labels: Musings