Seven years ago today, my paternal grandfather passed away. We were very close, almost inseparable. When I was a child, he would take me everywhere he went - the market, into town, to visit his friends, out for meals. As I grew older, he would be the one I turn to for a hug or for extra money for treats. Until I was 15, we always shared a room. I was his favourite grandchild, and he, for a very long time, the only member of my family with whom I had any “real” connection. He didn’t speak any English and I had a poor command of Cantonese, but somehow we “connected” and we communicated.

I was at university in London when I received the news of his death. I had only just arrived six weeks prior to that. I remember the day I left Kuala Lumpur. I made an extra special trip, through a very bad tropical storm for which Malaysia is famous, just to see him for a short while. I wanted to say goodbye and to tell him that I was really finally going to university. He had always believed in my intellectual capability and had always thought I could do more with the talents that I was given. I don’t know if he ever truly understood what I was going to do. I didn’t know how to explain in Cantonese what Economics was or what it was that I was about to study. I didn’t even bother attempting to explain how highly regarded the London School of Economics was and that in all my awe, I still couldn’t believe that I was going to be a part of that community. But he would have been proud. We didn’t really talk that afternoon. I remember hugging him and then sitting with him in silence. I remember crying. I never saw him again.

I was woken from sleep just before the alarm was scheduled to go off. There was a loud knock on my door and a voice booming that I had a telephone call. I dragged myself out of bed, stumbled into the corridor and picked up the phone to hear the voice of a close girlfriend who (then) lived on the West side of central London. She had been appointed to the role of messenger. I remember shock. I remember sliding down the wall and crouching on the floor. I remember crying silently in disbelief. I don’t remember what I had said, if anything. I had lost the one person in my immediate family who had the greatest impact in my life. I had no words.

He had apparently died in his sleep. He was cremated. I didn’t have the opportunity to return for his funeral. Andrew went in my place.

My father asked me if there was anything I wanted from the little that my grandfather left behind. I wanted only this small block of dark wood, measuring no more than 5″ x 3″ x 2.5″, that my grandfather used as a “pillow” when he took naps in the daytime. For as long as I could remember, he had always laid his head on this block of wood.

The only other physical reminder I have of my grandfather was a large round jade locket of twin fishes that he bought when he went to China on a holiday. I wore it for several years before giving it to Andrew, for protection, just before I left for London in 1997. The locket broke at some point in 1998. The two halves - linked to the two men I loved most until this point in my life - now lie in a box as physical reminders of what once was.

Posted on November 6th, 2004 by jl
Filed under: Notable: Personal