Why Do Stars Fall Down From the Sky

I never knew I could hurt like this,

And everyday life goes on like
"I wish I could talk to you for awhile,"
Miss you but I try not to cry,
As time goes by.
And it's true that you've reached a better place,
Still I'd give the world to see your face,
And I'm right here next to you,
But it's like you're gone too soon,
Now the hardest thing to do is say bye bye.

"Bye Bye"
Mariah Carey

I expected it, but not that soon.

She was gone on Wednesday morning, 22 April 2009, 7.43am. God had called her home.

• The night before that was the first time I visited her after quite some time, I ran out of the ward a few minutes after looking at her, called Cat and cried.
• The following morning at 7.43am, I was listening to Alvin's joke.
• I was looking forward to see her again after classes, when I'm more controlled of my tears.
• Mommy's message came during Law class, in an unusual manner (using words like 'please' and 'we'), I began to have thoughts but wiped them away.
• Called mommy when I reached the station, her voice was a little shaky.
• She broke the silence in the car saying, "Girl," inhaled, "popo just passed away."

The past 2 days were a blur, I couldn't remember much except the fact that I cried whenever I look at her picture, and when I looked at her.

It didn't help, the fact that I was the last to know about it, especially when I saw her lying in the coffin in church. One look at her I said to myself, "This cannot be her. The undertaker made a mistake. They got the wrong person."

Mommy convinced me it was her. "Must be the make-up," she said. Indeed it was. These people played with Popo's face like it's a canvas. The artificial crimson on her lips and sickening white powder, which only made her looked pale instead of beautiful.

Then again, I cannot say she was beautiful. I'll be very frank, she was never beautiful.

Ethereal would be the right word to describe her.

She was tricked into marrying him, yet she took good care of all her grandchildren, whom are not exactly her grandchildren. They were the children of her step-children.

Cousins came in with solemn faces, I thought I was the only one who was hyper-emotional. Yet at the moment they looked at Popo, Winnie started wailing, "Popo! Popo!"; ChinLee teared; Gaby sobbed. Not a vestige of tear on the guys' faces.

I talked very little to them, keeping my distance, I didn't trust my emotions at the moment, afraid I'd crumple. Especially from Gaby, she was the closest to Popo, anyone could see that Gaby loved her the most. She took it really hard.

We had 2 memorial services. I was pleasantly surprised by the number of wreaths, in fact, I wasn't expecting any. What really touched me was the wreath given by the Elders of the church. As silly as it sounds, the Elders are regarded like royalty by most church members. So it was really an honour to have one from them.

It didn't occur to me that the most painful moment was not looking at Popo, as if she was only asleep, through a thin glass; it was today during the funeral service.

Placing rose buds around her was one thing, bidding her farewell was another. We were allowed to touch her forehead and hands for the very last time. Daddy had tears in his eyes, the first time I see him sob, when he whispered the final loving words.

Her skin was so cold. I realised I never told her how much I love her, how much she means to me. Gaby touched her wrinkled forehead, gasping, "Popo... it's Gaby..." I couldn't bear to hear it.

I thought I would collapse when Kelvin, our coordinator, came to the coffin with an electronic screw driver in his hand. He sealed the coffin, tight. Remorse imbued, why didn't I hug her more often? They closed the little 'window', I prayed fervently that I won't forget her visage.

We walked for a short distance behind the hearse. On the way to Nilai Memorial Park, we tried to cheer up the mood in the car. Successfully. Until I remembered about the burial.

ChinLee and I nearly howled when they lowered the coffin into the vault. Roses knocked on her coffin, petals of chrysanthemums rained on her. I took a step nearer when they sealed the vault with heavy stone slabs. Then broke down when they shoved the first shovel of soil on the slabs.

Mommy, Damien and I huddled together in front of her grave as they separated us. Soil and stone in between. Are those what really separates the dead and the living? Are they there to prevent the dead from returning, or to stop the living from going in?

They laid the flowers from the wreaths on her frest grave, a simple cross with her name was there as a substitute for the tombstone, which will be erected after 6 months. "Leave time for the soil to settle," Kelvin said. Leave time for the tragedy to sink in, I thought.

I felt the zephyr. I turned my head to the blue, blue sky. I gazed at her flower bed.

Gaby and I watched her, when the others faded away into the crowd. It was like Popo was listening to the both of us at the same time, except that she heard everything; we heard nothing.

And we left. Somehow it was so cruel to leave her. I hugged her portrait all the way home.

We cry at funerals for many reasons:

• we can't accept the fact that someone is gone
• we miss the deceased
• we're just plain emotional
• the deceased will never get to hear things meant for him/her, untold

I weep for the myriad of things untold, and she will never hear them. But I'm sure she heard me say, "Wait for me, I'll see you in Heaven, a little later."

P/S: It's a long post, I know. You don't need to read it. I'm not going to kill myself. God said we will meet again in Heaven when we die. I'm not worried about her now because I was wrong when I left the cemetary, she is not alone. My Lord Jesus is with her, celebrating her new birth to an eternal life. A life without tubes and white patches, needles and medicine, sorrow and tears.

Dearest Popo, Thank you for your efforts made to get to know me, I never noticed those little gestures till now. I send all my love to Heaven, the angels will bring them to you. I love you.