Chet’s Chatter

Missing him

Posted on 21 April 2005 @ 23:42 in Family

I got to my sister’s this evening, saw his car in the driveway, and thought to myself, oh good, he’s here already. Then I remembered he’s here no more.

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On the lighter side …

Posted on 20 April 2005 @ 17:56 in Humour

The other evening, I arrived at my sister’s to find the family dog in her usual place under the mango tree. She was looking into the distance, away from me.

As it didn’t look like she knew I was there, I called out.

“Greenie!”

No response.

Tried again.

“Greenie!”

Still no response.

Third try:

“Oi!”

She turned and looked at me.

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Father Remembered

Posted on 17 April 2005 @ 22:16 in Family

We were asked if we wanted to say a eulogy to our father. At first, we said no. The pastor encouraged us to, and finally, my brother said he would say something.

What he said reinforced all the things I remembered about our father, which I’d been telling in bits and pieces to anyone who would listen to me this past weekend, but which he pieced together into an eloquent, coherent whole.

He told relatives and friends present at the service about how caring our father was. He remembered our childhood days when “my father would send me and my sisters, and also our cousins, to school.” Here, he looked around, saw my sister’s children, and added, “And later, he also sent my nephew and niece to school, too.”

He told of a friendly and generous man who would go around asking people how they were.

“I remember whenever I came home from Singapore, he would take me for lunch at the coffee shop, and all the stallholders would greet him, Ah Pak, Ah Pak*.”

My brother then went on to share about a particular weakness of our late father’s.

“One thing about my father was he didn’t talk much but kept a lot of things to himself. Often, I would call home to ask how he is, and he would always say he’s fine. This is perhaps why, this time, we didn’t know until it was too late that all was not well with him.”

When he said was true – a caring father and grandfather, a generous man even to strangers, and most of all, a loving husband.

After the service, Brother Arthur from Glad Tidings church who’d conducted the service, told me how father would buy tau fu fah (sweet soya bean curd) every afternoon and feed it to mother. He would also buy cakes for the residents’ 3:00 p.m. tea time.

I told Brother Arthur I would take over buying the tau fu fah for mother. I hope I can be as loving a daughter to my mother as my father was a loving husband to her.

*Ah Pak – uncle

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Fulfilling his wishes

Posted on 16 April 2005 @ 07:17 in Family

Back in December 2004, my father gave my brother a note which said:

“Please take care of mother.
I want to be cremated.
I want my ashes scattered out to sea.”

I’m glad that we’ll be able to fulfill every one of those three wishes.

Later this morning, he will be cremated.

Tomorrow morning, we’re going out to sea to scatter his ashes.

And from now on, we will take care of mother until she joins him.

Yesterday evening, quite a few relatives asked how and where we would “remember” him (a physical item, e.g., his urn of ashes). And when my aunt, his younger sister, heard that we would be scattering his ashes, she asked, “How will you remember him on special days?”

I thought about it for a while, and told her, “We don’t need to remember him only on special days. We will remember him in our hearts 365 days a year.”

David “deesee” Chew, YP, AWK, DK and everyone else who have lost their fathers – I’m sure you remember your dad in your hearts 365 days a years, too.

Thank you for all your kind thoughts at this time. My family and I thank you.

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A day late

Posted on 15 April 2005 @ 12:21 in Family

The phone call I dreaded receiving the previous night came around 5 this morning. We went over and he was still hanging on, altho barely.

Father God took my father home at 7:05 this morning.

My sister, brother and I, as well as my brother-in-law and nephew, were with him till the end. The three of us stood beside him, holding his hands and arms till he left us.

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