How do you say goodbye to a child?

Two Sundays ago, I attended the wake of a 14-year old child who lost his battle with leukemia.  Timothy was the son of an old friend, June, whom I got to know way back in NUS.  Initially, when the news of his passing came about, I did not make the connection.  Susannah's young son, Geof, who were classmates, had been shaken by the tragic news because 'the idea of how our fragile mortality suddenly became real. As a mum, I am frightened that I can no longer protect my children from such realities." That was her status update on FB that Friday evening.

I saw the picture of a smiling young man, placed in the obituaries on Saturday.  It did seemed a little out of place, for the other pictures were of individuals who were at least fifty years and above at the time of their demise.  Again, it was a reminder of how Death, is indeed a leveller, and does not discriminate gender nor age.  I took a cursory glance at the names, and also felt a tinge of pain for the parents. It seemed to go against the law of nature that the child goes before the parents.

It was only on Sunday morning when my own 'reality' sank in.  Zafran said that former classmates where going to visit his literature teacher, for her son had passed away.  June was Zafran's literature teacher...and that was how everything sort of fell into place. I hunted for the papers again, read it carefully , and this time, really felt my heart sinking when I saw June's name there.

Back in our varsity days, I know June had her fair share of adversities...She had endured them all admirably; she is spunky and always saw the proverbial cup as being half full instead of empty.  But this...

With Zafran, I made my way to her home. They were having prayer sessions then, so I had a chance to speak to June's Muslim colleague who waited with me outside.  They had placed chairs for visitors, and along the walls, were pictures of young Timothy, all smiling, in his school uniform.  There I learnt that he had the disease when he was younger, had pulled through, and this was a sudden and unexpected relapse.  He developed a high fever on Thursday, and by Friday, he was gone.  I can imagine how devastated the parents were.

I saw this so poignantly played in the many scenes that unfolded.  A tall man stood dazely by the door to welcome and thank visitors who came.  In the line patiently was another man to offer his condolences.  Suddenly the tall man caught the other in a bear hug, and bawled.  It caught all of us by surprise - by the sudden burst of emotions.  From the soothing sounds and bits of exchanges I caught between them...here was the grieving father, and the other, the doctor who had treated Timothy ever since he was young.  Both men sought comfort in each other; knowing that a greater being had a 'greater say' in how fate is shaped.

The casket lay in the middle of the living room.  The school flag was draped over it.  But I was drawn to several things.  There were the usual wreaths of flowers; mainly in white orchids, and lilies...but a lady came bearing a single red rose.  She gazed down at the face in the casket, and said rather loudly, "Bye Timmy. Don't be cheeky in Heaven".  My heart caught momentarily then, and those who listened smiled.

I inched closer, and unconsciously, I sought for Zafran's hands.
I saw the colourful posters and letters Timothy's classmates had written...all placed above the casket...saying goodbyes.  They spoke of 'his laughter, his sense of humour and his zest for life'.  Under the casket, were a pair of football boots, a soccer ball, and the jersey of his favourite soccer club.  Tucked at the corner, was his NCC uniform...all stark reminders of what an active, lively boy he must have been...during his short time on earth.

Over and over again, I rehearsed in my head what to say to June while waiting in line.
I saw her ... standing dignifiedly, thanking people who came to share her grief...as she mourned the loss of her first-born.

Share...how can I ever measure that?
Only God knows the amount of pain she felt...the emotional and spiritual torture.
To have tears flow...even in rivers...but that will never bring that precious life back.

In the meantime, there were two other moments which, by itself, highlights the almost cruel juxtaposition of life and death.  June's second son was in the midst of his PSLE exams...and on the day of his brother's funeral, would have to sit for his last science paper...in fact, the funeral service would proceed after his exams.  Looking very tired, the 12-year old picked up his book, and sat at the foot of the coffin, reading.  He leaned against the hard wood where his brother lay...a very grim reminder to me how life must go on.

June's youngest boy was only 4.  I wondered how much he understood what the loss meant to him at the moment.  He had stood in line with the rest of the family, and if there was anyone who cried openly, this child, in all his innocence, held the other person in a tight embrace. He said, " Don't worry.  Don't cry.  Timmy is happy. Timmy is in Heaven.  Timmy is not in pain."...maybe these are echoes of the adults who have said this to him...but how much does he really understand? How will the pain be like when he realise that Timmy is never going to be able to play or argue with him anymore?

I reached June.  She opened up her hands.
And despite all the things I have practised, I did not know what to say as I hugged my friend.
Maybe there was no need for words...her pain was mine...and my fears were hers.

I watched as she hugged my first born, Zafran and thanked him for coming.  And then she turned to me and said..."Love your children, Adibah...love them."
I think I was in a daze after that...for all I knew was of the blessings I had been given as I held tightly the hand of my own child.  There were too many unspoken questions.

But...I had one more 'lesson'
Someone else had offered the condolence to June...something was said.
And in all clarity...this was June's remark.
"How do you say goodbye to your child?"

....and that...no mother would wish to have to do.....

RIP Timothy Thambiah
You were truly God's gift to your parents.
May your mother's tears and sorrows be your blessings in the hereafter.