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A few days ago I received news that my godfather, Bapak, was critically ill in hospital. The doctor asked all family members to come visit. “There’s no hope left,” he said.

My godparents took care of me since I was a tiny little baby. Through my kindergarten and primary school days, they’d make the effort to come pick me up and live with them during the holidays, although they lived in Johor. I considered them my 2nd parents. They always bought me what I wanted, and before I left for home, they always gave me $10 pocket money. Those were the best days of my childhood.

As we walked down the halls of SGH to Bapak’s ward, memories of the day my mother died came flooding back. I remembered turning the same corner where my aunt turned to me and said, “She’s gone…” I hate going through this phase. Please don’t let anyone leave me again…

As we turned into one of the rooms and walked towards Bapak’s bed, I was relieved to see my godmother, Mak, there. She always makes me feel secure, ever since I was little. Although her husband was at the brink of death, she still tried to put a brave front by smiling, pretending that everything was alright. But I knew it wasn’t. The evidence was right before my eyes.

Dreadfully I turned to look at Bapak and almost immediately, tears rolled down my face. Back then, he always had a smile on his face when he saw me, and when I told him stupid jokes he’d give this big laughter as if it was the funniest thing in the world. I remember his soft-spoken voice whenever he talked to me. He never raised his voice, or laid a finger on me.

The man that lay before me wasn’t anything I remembered when I was little. He could not laugh or smile anymore. He was not even aware of my presence. He stared blankly into space, waiting for time to pass by. Just waiting… for his time to arrive. I didn’t want to accept this fact... I didn’t want it to be true. I didn’t want it to be him.

I want to be living in the 90s again. When everyone was still alive and well. When there were no worries about anyone dying. When I was 9 and sitting at the dinner table with Mak and Bapak chatting and laughing away. When everything was okay.

After primary school, I never got to see them that much except for Hari Raya. When my mum passed away, I was surprised when I saw Mak standing in the doorway. I quickly ran into her arms to seek the comfort I needed.

When we visited them last Hari Raya, I was astounded when I found every single photograph hanging on their walls were pictures of me when I was little. I was so moved. That was when I realized how much they really cherished me as their child.

As my family was about to leave the ward, I stood still and looked sadly at Bapak. My father’s words, “This may be the last time you’re seeing him,” kept playing in my head. I bent down to kiss him on the forehead. Thank you Bapak for all the wonderful years you gave me. Slowly he turned towards me with empty but earnest eyes. I still couldn’t believe this was happening. I started choking between sobs.

As I turned to Mak, I knew she was trying to hold back her tears. But the moment she saw me choking uncontrollably, her tears started flowing freely. She took me in her arms and embraced me like she’s never embraced me before. I felt like a child again, being protected by her mother from harm. I hugged her back to give her the comfort she gave me for 12 years. She’s never cried on my shoulder before. I didn’t want to let go. She was going to have to face another loss. She’s already lost 2 sons to asthma, and now she’s left with one.

I cried as I left the room. I cried on the way home. I cried myself to sleep. I still haven’t stopped crying since. Bapak, please don’t leave…

posted by natasha @ 8:30 AM