The doctor told her then, she only had months left.
And so for her remaining days, Aunty Nora decided to live life to the fullest.
She drew up her will, met friends and loved ones regularly, diligently watched lots of K-dramas, and ate many a hearty meal.
J, ever the sweet boy, would take Aunty Nora out once a week for a good meal with his parents.
Peranakan food, Coca steamboat (senior citizens got discount lah, J says), and international hotel buffets and high teas, you name it.
Last Tuesday, Aunty Nora died at age 73.
I received J's message while I was on my way for a meeting.
Though I had known Aunty Nora for the last 18 years I was with J, I didn't feel overwhelmed with sadness.
One, she had outlived her doctor's prognosis by slightly more than a year.
Two, she had had a full life after all, having been a Tai Tai, without having to worry about money and always indulging in the finer things in life.
And three, in Aunty Nora's final days, she was so frail and in so much pain that she really wanted to just leave this world.
It was a sad day for J and his family.
That night, I fulfilled my duties as the daughter-in-law to the Tans.
Stanley my sex bunny friend would say that there are many other more interesting roles I can play to fulfill my duties as the Tans' daughter-in-law, but let's not go there.
That night, after Aunty Nora's immediate family ironed out the dreadful admin and logistics work, her body was brought back to her Jalan Chengam home.
Aunty Nora's wake photo was stately.
She had her puffy hair -- in a brilliant sheen of white -- nicely coiffed, and was in an elegant black cheongsam with pink and purple floral patterns.
In her coffin, she looked equally dignified, dressed in that very cheongsam which she had meant to wear in her final journey.
Her clasped hand held a rosary which was used frequently in her living days.
For the next few nights, her Jalan Chengam home was filled with collective chatter from tables of friends and family.
It was in a way a familiar sight given that when she was alive, Aunty Nora would hold such rowdy parties too.
J and I took a back seat from wake duties and just made sure guests are well fed with peanuts, and pipping hot sayur lodeh, cooked by one of his cousins.
During the wake, I learnt that Aunty Nora had been involved in her own funeral planning -- from choosing her funeral mass hymn to making sure she gets her favourite priest to say mass for her.
Great planning on her part.
But it was very morbid.
Days after her funeral, I got to thinking of my own mortality.
And J and I both sat down to talk about our longevity on this planet.
It was an important discussion. We know we will not live forever and there's no way we will escape death.
While J's parents have made afterlife plans (they all bought niche units at their parish churches), it was J's own plans I wanted to know.
My practical partner had opted for sea burial (which is an option for Catholics, I learnt. After cremation, J's ashes will be filled in an urn which will be brought to sea by a priest, who will dump the urn).
I've also studiously made notes about J's funeral hymns.
"What the heck makes you think you'll outlive J," Stanley demanded to know when I told him this over coffee the other day.
"J is healthier and holier than thou," Stanley said, adding that "don't forget you were a young slut before you met J so God knows what sort of underlying STD you have which might just emerge and kill you some day."
Which also got me thinking.
It's true what Stanley said (the slut part and also my naive thought that I would outlive J).
In fact, I want to outlive J.
It pains me to imagine him hovering over my coffin and staring down at me, feeling like his whole world has crumbled.
Me on the other hand, knowing what sort of a drama queen I am, will survive. After all, I'll be theatrical enough to ensure I express my sorrows appropriately.
All that morbid talk got Stanley himself thinking.
"Damn. I'm single and I have nobody to weep big fat salty tears for me," he said, already mourning his future death.
"But I'm making good progress," my sex bunny friend added wistfully.
"I've been diligently sleeping around so that eventually when I'm dead, I can truly live up to the title, the laid Stanley Ong which will be inscribed on my tombstone."
In loving memory of Aunty Nora, who, when the going got tough for her and had trouble eating when she was ill, told me she enjoyed the Myanmar cashew nuts I had been buying for her. And thank you for your years of acceptance, party invites and generous treats and angpaos during Chinese New Year.
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Adam's stories are based on real life events and inspired by real people
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