The Ripped Soul

My uncle Junior passed away on the 28th of August 2010. He took his last breath at 6:53am.

I wasn't there when he died on the dot, but I was the last person to leave his bedside. I left at 4:15am that morning after talking, praying and listening to old disco music with him. Get angry all you want, I just felt that if it was his last moments, I'm sure he would have wanted to listen to something groovy, instead of prayers and people grieving all around him as if he was dead. And I'm glad that I had my last moments with him, I'm glad I managed to talk to him, but above all, I'm glad he listened to what I said.

People might think, "but Jess, you weren't there when it was Christmas, you weren't there when it was New Year's, you weren't there at Chinese New Year or Hari Raya.. why would you even miss him? Why would you even cry when you saw him on the bed? Why would you feel so much for him? You're not his brother, you're not his daughter, and you're not his wife. You don't even say a word about him, or speak praises or spit curses. Why do you care so much suddenly?"

I know it's pretty ironic. As I grew up, I grew out. People had things to say about me, so I just turned my back and walked. Everyone starts to lead their own lives at some point or another. Mine started when I got involved with church. And after I fell out with church, it was work. It was relationships, it was life. I even moved out from home at a point. I ran away. I came back.

But that's me. Now back to this uncle of mine.

So I know I was never really there. Doesn't mean that my heart wasn't. Every other time when I would go out with my cousin(s) or talk to them, or talk to mom, I would ask about the family and how they are. Simple things like that. If there was news, news would go around. If there wasn't, then.. no news means good news, right? Right.

But he's different, though. He was special to me (and would always be special to me) because I know that I was close to him when I was a kid.

When my aunt and I sat at his bedside, I asked what was her fondest memory of him. She told me her share of stories that she had with him.

I had a few, myself.

One would be the time when he stopped his ex-wife from throwing the chair at my cousins and me. He was protective of all of us, and I admired that about him so much.

Another would be when he met my mum and I and he asked me what I wanted for Christmas. I could have anything I wanted. I told him I wanted a G-Shock watch because it was fresh and stylish to have. It was also something my brother had. He got me a Baby-G watch instead. I would have worn that watch to Cedar Primary and Bartley for the next decade till the strap gave way and smelt like seawater.

Then there was a time when ads would play and then the cross was shown on TV. If you looked in the centre of the cross, you would clearly see the parchment of the "Our Father" in it. I told my mom how much I loved it and he knew. Then he got it for me, costly as it was. He got mum the cross from Jerusalem which had The Jerusalem stone in the center too. He wasn't wealthy, but he gave when he could. He wasn't selfish. It was another admirable trait about him.

After that were the trips we made to his house on Hari Raya, or when I would see him at Grandma's or at Uncle Chris's for whichever occasion.

I would always poke him. He would always hug me. I would miss that dearly.

Then there were times when I would pay him a visit at his office with mum when he was still into the renovation business. I remember when he would take us out to eat. When he would play scrabble with me, when he would let me read the paper (even though he was busy reading it) or when he would give me a drink of tea or anything that I wanted.

I remember how generous he was, how loving he was. How he never asked for anything in return. I remember how he NEVER told me what to do with my life, I remember how he would smile at me. I remember his voice. I remember his loud, gruffy laughs. I remember his chinese looking face. I remember his hugs.

So for people wondering why I'm suddenly depressed when I'm actually very detached from this family, please understand that my uncle just passed away. When I was growing up as a kid, I was close to him. I loved him and I looked up to him. I still do. I still love him, and he will always be my hero.

I've seen him fight his sickness and his pain in hospital, and it was painful to watch him suffer in misery. In agony.

Am I glad he's gone? No. I wish he could still be around so I can still arm wrestle with him and play scrabble one more time. Maybe go for one karaoke session just to hear him sing. Or have a stout and a cigarette and have mum nag at me while he is right there.

But I am glad he is done with his suffering. He doesn't deserve to go through such pain when people don't care. Better to move on to the next world, free from hurt and illness, from misery, agony, sadness, anger and suffering.

I had my share of time with him, and I'm glad to have had an uncle like him. He's the best. I had a blast, even when he was in hospital and dying.

I remember when I came back from Alabama and paid him a visit first in the hospital. Back in the ICU he could hold my hand and tell me about jackpot machines and Vegas nights. I told him I'd go to Vegas sometime, and he'd better help me win the Slots. He told me he'll hit jackpot. Haha. We talked about movies and he told me about Ip Man and Crimson Tides(Heights?) and then he told me about The Godfather. When I was leaving, I kissed his hand and he kissed mine. I ran my fingers through his hair and he smiled. The day after, he arm wrestled with me. He was blind and couldn't see anymore. He held my hand close to his chest and didn't want to let go. I whispered in his ears and told him he was the best, and he gripped my hand and shook it hard. I would water his head and wipe his face with his towel when I was at his bedside whenever I could.. till the day he was gone. When I was out and had the phonecall that he could die at any moment, I rushed back to the hospital and SPRINTED to the damn ward. I made it, and he waited for all of us.

Hate me all you want, call me cruel, call me evil, call me the sinner..

In his last few hours I told him to go. I told him to suffer no more, because he didn't deserve to suffer in such pain when no one else cared. I told him to go because everyone who loved him had seen him, everyone that cared had touched him, and that everyone will miss him and love him dearly. And in the event where if no one else did, then I would. I would always miss him, and I would always love him. I said that I was sorry I never spent much time with him while growing up as an adult, and that I hoped he would forgive me. I told him that I never forgot how he treated me when I was a kid, and that I would treasure his memory forever. I told him he was my hero, but he needed to go. Then I said that if he heard my great-grandmother calling, he should go. If he'd seen the white light at the end of the tunnel, I told him to go. If he heard his name called, I told him to go. I told him not to wait anymore. I told him not to suffer anymore.

I cried, and my mum cried as she heard me talk to him quietly. He shed a tear, too.

I left because mum was in pain and I knew. I left because I didn't want to watch him die. He'd scared me twice with his difficulty in breathing, and I knew that if I were to sit there and watch him go limp, I wouldn't be able to take it. The feeling is just something else. It's not like a breakup, it's not like when you realize you will never have kids, and it's not like when you get divorce papers by surprise. And I believed strongly that he would not have wanted me or my mom there to watch him die a slow, painful death. So we cleaned up, adjusted him on his bed, touched his cold feet, touched his cold hands.. said a last prayer, said our last words, gave our last kisses as he heaved and struggled to breathe.. and we left.

Next thing you know, he's gone.

For those thinking that I am heartless, that I have no feelings, then I leave the judgement to you. But I know myself, and I know that as strong as I try to be on the outside, I am weak on the inside.. and the only other person that can really see how broken up I am, is God.

I can't think of any other person who I would just straight jump and do a montage for, but I did it for him.

And trust me when I say that it hurts so much to look at pictures again, to look at his eyes and see how alive he was.. and slowly realize that he's not, anymore. He's not someone you can visit at home or at hospital. He's not around. He's long gone. It pains my heart. The tears just keep coming.

So for those of you who think that I have no heart, do think again. But alas, if that is how you feel, and that is your final judgement, then I will not try to change your mind.. since it's been made up. I can only hope that maybe one day, you might feel the same pain I feel.

Right now though.. I know what I feel and what's in my heart, and that's all that matters.

Rest in Peace, my darling Uncle Junior. You will always be missed.

He ain't heavy, he's my uncle..