Distant Memories

Recently I bought Chinese medicated plasters to get pain relief for my sprained shoulder. As I tore the medicated plasters or “ko yo” for use, the familiar smell of the medication triggered my long buried memories of my grandmother. She had passed away about 7, 8 years ago and though life goes on, I guess deep down inside I still miss her. She would often ask me to buy these medicated plasters for her rheumatism. I didn’t mind buying but I think there were times I felt that she was a nag as she kept pestering me to buy but I forgot or it was not along my way to step into the medical hall.

I remembered she was ill with constipation or fever a few days before she passed away. However, as my grandmother was quite an independent and healthy person, I guess my family did not really pay much attention. She was extremely resilient, only needing a walking stick in the last 3-5 years of her life. Her organs were in good condition; there was no major chronic illness we hear about these days. Her eyesight was all right, she had good hearing or motor skills even. She was not senile, other than the occasional bouts of forgetfulness in her last few years where she would ask if she has taken her medication or what time she ate her food. Only in the last few years did she requested for a chair in the bathroom as she could not stand for too long and she was afraid she would fall.

She loved durians, peanut kueh and “ang koo kueh” and lots of other food too as she wasn’t very fussy about food but these are the 2 kinds I can remember. She was very game to try out new food too, so I used to buy her sushi, fried chicken with seaweed, ice cream, etc for her to try. I think she loved sushi too. Sadly, old age slowly claimed her appetite and digestion so she mostly ate porridge or soft food in the very latter years of her life. I remembered cutting up the vegetables or carrot and chicken into very small pieces and boiling with the porridge for her lunch. My family cooked it in the morning and left it in the heat container for her lunch – something which I think now is not very appetizing for her but we did not have a maid, only 2 tortoises to accompany her. Perhaps we should have gotten a maid to take care of her. I also had to make her breakfast before I left school as she woke up 1, 2 hours after I left for school because we were afraid she would scald herself with the hot water flask. And I remembered she loved visitors. She loved watching drama series and opera.

I guess as a teenager then, I did not really know how to take care of people. I guess I was living in my own world; a cold and selfish teenage who wanted to be out all the time. If I had paid more attention when she was last sick, she might have had an easier time. If only I knew how to care for a sick elderly and the kinds of food to feed, to watch her liquid levels and to prevent dehydration. It seemed like she never drank much water for 2 to 3 days.

We sent my grandmother to the hospital because she was quite unresponsive in the end or rather too frail. Yet she seemed all right in the hospital, which I supposed the drip restored her liquid levels. Unfortunately, that was the last night we saw her alive. Dead in the middle of the night or before dawn, we received a call from the hospital, asking us to go down as my grandmother’s blood pressure dropped and they were rescuing her. When we went there, we could only wait outside, so we slept fitfully and waited and waited and waited. Suddenly, the door of the emergency treatment room opened and we were told to go in to see her for the last time... She was 90 or about 93 years old...

How cold hospitals can be. How cold most nurses and doctors can be - without any real human concern. Not a comforting word, not a tissue. I shuddered and still shudder at mortuaries, hospitals and wakes. I hate going to wakes. I hate going to hospitals.

My family brought my grandmother back to KL to be buried. We sat with my grandmother, embalmed and lying in the coffin while the casket company drove us from Singapore to KL. I cannot remember how I passed those 6 to 8 hours on the road; I guess like all my family members, we were in a daze. The Chinese rituals were carried out for 3 days before she was buried and we had to pretend or rather cry loudly, do this, do that.

Till now, there are also some Chinese rituals to be carried out during Qing Ming Festivals. I find all these rituals very meaningless. This is why if I have any excuses to skip it, I will. People are just caught up with offering this, offering that to their ancestors or loved ones lying in the graves. Caught up in the rituals such that it becomes a routine. Where are the loving memories? Where is the significance? Where is the motivation?

My father says to bring flowers to the grave when my Malaysian aunt is too old to help us prepare the ritual food and joss sticks, candles and what have you. I think that that is so much better and meaningful – to go to the grave annually to remember the person and of course, in our hearts, forever.