Silently

God knows just how many times I've attempted to update this space only to end up with more incomplete posts in my drafts box.

Today, however, I hope it'll be different.

It's almost 10 p.m. and I'm dying to be in bed but I shall (attempt to) update while waiting for Mama and the aunts to be back.

~~~~~

Life has been pretty hectic since my last post and I've had so, so many thoughts during my hiatus but, for some reason, I just couldn't find the right words. Instead, I let those thoughts pass, hoping there would be no reason for them to resurface but, of course, I was too naive to have assumed so.

Just 4 days into 2016, we got a call in the wee hours of a Monday morning.

Those are the kind of calls I hate the most. And if you know me, you'd know I rarely hate anything. But those calls, they often spell bad news and this was no exception.

It was almost 6 in the morning and Mama's phone rang. She jolted awake and barely reached for her phone on the bedside table. But Mama almost never puts her phone on the bedside table. It was always in her bag the night before because she doesn't want to risk leaving house without it.

That morning, though, her phone was placed on the bedside table and in her half-asleep state, she picked up the phone. I, on the other hand, was already fully awake. My heart skipped a beat and I woke up in a jiffy on the first ring. I knew it was not going to be pleasant.

My grandmother had called to tell us that my grandpapa couldn't walk.

It didn't sound serious but we couldn't make any assumptions or take any risks with an 89-year-old so Mama called for the ambulance. By now, she would be familiar with this process.

"How many times before have we called for an ambulance at 6 a.m. in the morning?" I thought to myself.

And as I thought so, I realised something was seriously wrong.

My grandpapa was never one to fall sick. Even if he did, he was the kind to recuperate over a rest. He would never, never willingly check himself into the hospital. Having born in the 1920s, he was a very typical traditional man who believed in self-medicating.

I remember him as a sturdy man with a pot belly. He enjoyed beer with his sons-in-law but was rather quiet on most occasions. This is the man who favoured his grandchildren and would call us into his room to stuff $5 notes in our pockets. He always said, "Don't tell your Amuma."

After Papa passed away, I found myself searching for a fatherly figure whenever we had family gatherings. Sometimes, I'd look to my uncles and at other times, I'd look to my grandpapa.

I loved this man so much I didn't realise it till I was about to lose him. And that made me extremely uncomfortable.

That morning, while the ambulance ferried my grandparents to the hospital and Mama took emergency off from work, I went back to sleep.

Strange, isn't it? How I could sleep as the old man was on his way to the hospital will forever remain a mystery.

I got up an hour later, the phone call still clear in my head. And I began panicking. There was no news whatsoever from Mama and we only got a message from her as I was on my way to work.

I worked half day that day. And I took the rest of the week off. Things played out well, though. I managed to clear most of my work the week before and I was just going in to clock in the hours.

So I met Mama and the teeter at the hospital that afternoon and we got the worst news from the doctors explaining there's absolutely nothing left for them to do. He's 89 and his organs are failing due to old age.

It wasn't as surprising, I think. I mean, he suffers from dementia and we all knew the day would come where his organs would start failing and his brain eventually shrinks to nothing. So we knew. We definitely knew but we weren't prepared.

Thing is, over the years, as I sent Papa, Aunty Usha and my nephew off, I learned that there's no way I will ever be prepared to send a loved one off. So many nights I go to sleep imagining what it'd be like having to send Mama off and I weep silently as I stare at her back. It's heart-breaking.

One by one, we gathered at the hospital. My grandpapa was still wide awake. No, he was very much aware of his surrounding and he knew he wasn't home. Of course, as a dementia patient, he didn't do well in an unfamiliar environment. He was so disoriented and so easily irritable, he'd grit his teeth in frustration and kept everyone awake through the night calling out for someone. (He has no sense of time.)

I was at the hospital every single day he was there. And as the terrible news continued to pour in, we were brutally honest with the aunts and told them they needed to be here for the simple reason: if not now, when?

They took our advice and flew in one after another. Ever since they've arrived, they've been really disciplined and didn't miss a day at my grandparents'. We discharged my grandpapa and he's been doing so much better at home.

Point is, ever since the aunts came, they've been having numerous talks and discussions about how to care for my grandparents and where the finances are going to come from. 

Truth be told, we're not a well-off family. Every one of us has our own debts to pay and we're all very tight on cash. (And that is why when my friends ask me why I work so many jobs, I tell them honestly about my family's situation.) We, unfortunately, don't have sufficient funds to provide adequately for my grandparents.

That being said, it's not all about the money. Between Mama and her siblings, my grandmother created a rift. I don't know why. Maybe she felt insecure, maybe she felt the need to pit her children against each other but whatever the reason, I see a rift.

Although Mama and my aunts are pretty close, my uncle, on the other hand, is a lone island.

Through the years, as we searched for a sustainable solution to provide for my grandparents, my uncle took them in for a year on the condition that my grandparents paid him back a lump sum of money that they apparently owed him from almost 20 years ago when they used to live together.

I don't know the nitty gritty details of this matter from a time I wasn't even born but I take what everyone says with a pinch of salt. Anyway, my grandma agreed and they moved in with my uncle after the sale of their flat.

Problem is, a year on, my uncle says my grandparents can't live with them because they don't get along with his wife. (And this is because, if I dare say, my aunt and grandmother go way back even before my uncle married her. They had issues for years and no one rectified them. Everyone knew it would be impossible for them to live together again.)

That's where the rift began to build.

My aunts were against the entire idea but because they reside overseas, it is very hard to reinforce their opinions. Knowing my grandma as well, she wasn't about to listen to anyone.

When my grandparents got kicked out, they had to spend a lot of money on renting an apartment for the next one year. Then they bought a flat of their own and had to fork out some more money to prepare for the new house.

Basically, a lot of money was wasted and we could have avoided that. But we didn't and now we're out of funds.

I look at my mom, aunts and uncle as they talk to each other and I know there's no real relationship there. There's no real connection as siblings but everyone is there because they need to be and how I see it is my mom is the bridge that connects my uncle and aunts.

It's very sad.

Over the last two days, I had talks with both my aunts separately and I told them how I felt. I witness the divide and I hate to think how the family will never come together again. That saddens me.

Coming from an incomplete family, I know what it's like to not have closure and that's something I struggle with till today. But my aunts and uncle are adults. I had faith in the adults that they would eventually reconcile because, well, they are adults. 

Watching that hope dissipate and coming to terms with the fact that no one will have closure is just so painful to admit.

I'm sure no one had ill intentions. Everyone wanted the best for my grandparents but everyone needed to fend for themselves. For my uncle who was torn between filial piety towards his parents and loyalty towards his wife, it must have been a tough decision to ask his parents to move out. And for my aunts, their anger and unhappiness with their brother is well justified by his decision. It's a vicious cycle, isn't it?

We can't undo my uncle's decision but that is the root of the problem. That is where this divide started and if we can't go back in time to change my uncle's mind, then they will remain divided for the rest of their lives. 

~~~~~

Why it affects me so much is because I love my family. 

I can take bullshit from anyone because at the end of the day, I don't really care about what others think of me but if there's anything that truly upsets me, it's watching my family fall apart. 

Sure, I've a good relationship with my uncle and aunts but I can't bear to see them against one another.

Is there really nothing I can do?