Today marks my grandad's second death anniversary. His wife, most of his children and his grandchildren made a visit to the temple where his remains are housed. In remembrance of him, we offered up joss sticks, prepared his favourite food, burnt some offerings and (finally) unveiled his tablet. I still get a little emotional whenever I see his likeness on his urn, but on the other hand it's always nice to see the family gathered together like this. We don't hold family gatherings as often as we used to.
In the car on the way home from the temple, my grandmother showed me the wrinkled skin of her arm, citing her weight loss as the reason. Haven't having laid eyes on her up close in a few months, I was taken aback slightly at how much this sprightly woman has aged. As I held her arm, examining it, I quietly pondered how much time we had left to spend together. I was glad to have finally handed her her intended portion of my bonus payout, today. It's not much, I know, but it's nice to know that I did something that she appreciated.
A couple of hours ago, I was at the hospital to pay Chye's grandmother a visit. She looked so small and frail, hidden under the covers and illuminated only by the backlit yellow fluorescent light. At one point she removed her dentures and sat up slightly on the bed to rinse her mouth. Chye's father moved forward and put his hand under her back to offer her more support. It was a slightly incongruous scene, and I quickly realised why: I had always regarded Uncle as an "old man" and put him in the same "Old People" category as Chye's grandmother, even though he is a good 20 years younger than her.
In 20 years' time we might be that hand of support for him.
In 50 years' time, who would be our support? Our kids? And if we had none, our siblings? And if they were gone too? Would we still have friends at that age?
I know this is all very morbid, but. I just can't help but wonder how it feels like, to be in an elderly person's shoes. To know that your journey in this world is nearing its end. What kind of feelings would be going through your mind, then? How would you wish to be remembered? Will you be remembered?
Or will it even matter then, I wonder?
In the car on the way home from the temple, my grandmother showed me the wrinkled skin of her arm, citing her weight loss as the reason. Haven't having laid eyes on her up close in a few months, I was taken aback slightly at how much this sprightly woman has aged. As I held her arm, examining it, I quietly pondered how much time we had left to spend together. I was glad to have finally handed her her intended portion of my bonus payout, today. It's not much, I know, but it's nice to know that I did something that she appreciated.
A couple of hours ago, I was at the hospital to pay Chye's grandmother a visit. She looked so small and frail, hidden under the covers and illuminated only by the backlit yellow fluorescent light. At one point she removed her dentures and sat up slightly on the bed to rinse her mouth. Chye's father moved forward and put his hand under her back to offer her more support. It was a slightly incongruous scene, and I quickly realised why: I had always regarded Uncle as an "old man" and put him in the same "Old People" category as Chye's grandmother, even though he is a good 20 years younger than her.
In 20 years' time we might be that hand of support for him.
In 50 years' time, who would be our support? Our kids? And if we had none, our siblings? And if they were gone too? Would we still have friends at that age?
I know this is all very morbid, but. I just can't help but wonder how it feels like, to be in an elderly person's shoes. To know that your journey in this world is nearing its end. What kind of feelings would be going through your mind, then? How would you wish to be remembered? Will you be remembered?
Or will it even matter then, I wonder?
