It's the third night of the wake.
It's the last night of the wake.
It's the second wake of the year.
It's the second wake in two months.
Once again, I am back at where I was two months ago. I remember exactly two months ago, at the exact same place, Richard's wake was just done and over with. We went up to the apartment flat, my auntie went to rest in the room, my sister gave her a little massage, we talked about life in the living room, on the way home believing that she was going to go soon, but not believing it would be in this year or the next, deciding we should spend more time with each other.
Exactly two months later, I receive a phone call. “你的姨妈走了。”
I called my cousin.
"Hey... is it... is it.. uh..."
"Yes. Yes she's gone."
I packed up my macdonald's lunch, went to the bus stop, got picked up by my pastor and arrived at the hospital, entered the room, my heart broke. All three of us, two pastors and myself, couldn't find a word to break repeated the chant in the room: “老婆。。老婆。。”
My tears came before my words. Or rather, they came in place of words.
After about 5 minutes of silence, sobs and hands being on shoulders, my uncle stopped, and gives us the story:
The date is 13th March 2011. It was a Sunday. As on most Sundays, the couple went to church, sang some worship songs, listened to the pastor preach, mingled with various members, all cheerful and believing that the world is a wonderful place.
They went for lunch, just as they would usually do on Sundays after church, and then retires to their apartment. She says she was feeling tired. She goes to rest in the room.
After a while, she calls out to him from the room. "Something's came out of my mouth," she says. He takes a look. Blood was coming out of her mouth. Shocked, he went to dial for an ambulance, and then comes back to carry her and wipes the blood with towel.
It kept coming. Kept coming. One towel after another was soaked in the red essence of life that was ebbing out of her frail body. He held her, held her, held her, until she passed out. He tells her, “老婆，不要睡啊。。”
She never woke up. He didn't know if she was just unconscious or... or... and he didn't know what to do. So he just held her, hoping, praying.
The ambulance arrived, and took the vital signs, and they announce... they...
"I'm sorry..."
At the wake, except for a few reckless ones, words are chosen carefully, as if they were mines laid out across the battlefield. The common ones are, 'it's good to move on', 'she's in a better place', 'God is with her', 'she can be with Richard now', 'there's not more suffering for her'.
Others remain silent.
Words are difficult, words do not suffice, words... are all we have for now.
We were ten. And now we are eight.
