Death always reminds us to live.
To live life to the fullest before Destination Death.
To live without regrets.
To live with love.
At this moment, our love level was at its fullest, ready for the moment.
Carl the dense one, my partner J and I have braced ourselves for an emotionally draining day: The funeral of Mrs Monica Ong, part-time socialite, full-time loving mother. Mother of Stanley our sex bunny friend.
We reached Stanley's parent's home at 8.15am, dressed in black suits and black ties.
Carl, who was worried we would be overdressed for a funeral, was both relieved and shocked when he saw what the other guests, mainly family and extended family of the Ongs, wore.
From tailored black cheongsams and well-pressed shirts to elegant looking pantsuits and dresses.
"This is a very well-dressed funeral," Carl said without disdain. Just plain awe.
Stanley received us at the front porch, looking like he's ready to attend a black-tie event.
He took one look at his us, smiled, and came in for a group hug.
"Thank you guys. My mum would have loved this," he said as bravely as he could.
Funeral mass was held at the Ong's parish church (which is also J's).
It was a surreal feeling. For Carl, Stanley and I -- who have been to many places in our friendship of 20-plus years -- to be in the House of God at the same time.
Stanley, two pews ahead of ours, looked very holy and solemn, keeping his head bowed throughout mass, occasionally looking at Mrs Ong's coffin.
Carl, to his credit, wasn't restless nor clueless. I caught him intermittently looking in Stanley's direction, checking in on him in his quiet way.
Despite the calming presence of the church, the soothing collective choral singing of the congregation, my mind was not at rest. I was running through a checklist of things in my mind for Stanley, my way of taking care of him.
I was the de-facto events planner. Bus IC, timekeeper, F&B chief post-cremation.
I was also constantly scanning the surrounding, making sure frail-looking elderly guests weren't alone when it was time to leave the church for the crematorium. I have my stash of bottles of water and packets of tissue, ready to dish them out when needed. And ready to force Stanley to take small sips throughout the day,
But I was also distracted by other uncomfortable elements associated with funerals.
Heart-wrenching scenes of people dabbing away tears, the waxy scent of flowers, and my imaginative mind which keeps visualising Mrs Ong being in the coffin.
Soon, the funeral mass came to an end.
Stanley and his family shuffled slowly behind Mrs Ong's coffin as the rest of us followed suit.
The choice of the departing song was interesting but befitting.
It wasn't a Catholic hymn. Not even the usual suspects like Josh Groban's Your Raise Me Up.
Instead, it was a 1990s Mandopop number Zhu Ni Yi Lu Shun Feng (translated less classily as Bon Voyage in English), by Nikki Wu.
When Stanley was in his Mandopop phase during secondary school, he had taken a liking to Xiao Hu Dui (or Tiger Cub Band, in loose translation) and he would blast all sorts of their ballads, including this ballad by Nikki Wu.
Mrs Ong would sway along with the music and in time to come, had even picked up a few songs.
Mrs Ong had was particularly fond of Bon Voyage -- a song Nikki wrote to commemorate the band's split.
Stanley decided that the song was therefore befitting of this grand farewell for his beloved mum.
The ballad's lyrics was so meaningful it was painful.
Later, the bus ride to Mandai, as expected, was a very quiet journey.
I kept wondering how Stanley -- riding separately from us -- was coping.
I would soon find out. Stanley had specifically appointed me to be right beside him when the time came for the cremation.
I dreaded that task.
I wasn't ready to face that ultimate goodbye but I loyally took on that role.
J had reminded me that I had to be a concrete pillar to Stanley, whatever it took.
As Mrs Ong's loved ones each laid a stalk of flower on, or in her coffin, I braced myself for this heavy role.
I linked arms with Stanley.
We watched from the mezzanine level, Mrs Ong's coffin being slowly directed to the furnace.
Stanley's body began shivering slightly. Then more. And then, his body went limp as he let out uncontrollable sobs, watching Mrs Ong's slow but sure path into the fiery pit.
I planted my feet firmly on the ground, literally and emotionally supporting Stanley.
The scene before my eyes was a very grim but poetic reminder of one's final journey.
As the coffin entered the furnace, the doors closed shut.
A visual reminder that there's no turning back.
A visual reminder that the very act was irreversible.
But also a visual reminder of closure.
And as the biblical saying goes, when one door is closed, another is opened.
I certainly hope that in the midst of Stanley's grief, God has it in His plans to comfort him in his own merciful way.
---------
Dedicated to Mrs Monica Ong, 1949-2023
No comments:
Post a Comment