This Sunday my maternal grandfather passed away, after the tuberculosis virus ravaged his health, and robbed him away from us.
I was present at the hospital ward, and witnessed the deteriorating condition firsthand, so I can say I was prepared to expect the worst.
My relationship with my maternal grandfather was never as close as would be ideal. In fact, it could be said that my relationship with my maternal relations were never as close as my relationship with my paternal ones. Perhaps it was the language barrier, perhaps it was the "culture", perhaps it was the people.
What I really regretted, was what happened earlier this year. We celebrated his 76th birthday in May, and I could tell my uncles and aunts put in a lot of effort into it. Yet, at the apex of any birthday celebration, when the cake was presented and we were all called to gather to sing the happy birthday song and take a photo, nobody made a move. My grandfather was sitting behind the cake, with my youngest cousin on his lap and my grandmother not far from him. The adults were calling and cajoling us 'kids' to go and "get in position". Nobody moved. We were just waiting for each other to make the first move.
At that point, I could sense the entire mood of the evening plummet, and my grandfather was sitting there insisting that its alright. That there is no need to go through all this trouble. Little were we to expect, a mere 2 months later, that would be the last time we would ever get to celebrate it with him.
I am filled with regret, that we, I, didn't cherish it. That we took it for granted. That that was the last time I saw him before this Sunday.
In closing, I want to pay tribute to him.
My maternal grandfather, now late, was a simple man. He ate simply, and dressed simply.
He never sought to create trouble for anybody, and avoided anything he felt would trouble anyone.
He was born in Malaysia, but settled down here, and married my grandmother.
He worked, to support my mother, and her siblings, working menial jobs all his life, until retirement in his 70s.
On normal Sunday evenings, when my family would occasionally go out to have dinner, he would always reject coming along when asked. Even to dinner functions, near or far, he chose to stay home. Always.
The extent he went to reassure everyone, to not let anyone worry about him, was noble.
It is unfortunate, from what I overheard from my relatives, that this quality in him may have indirectly lead to this state of affairs. That he refused to seek further treatment, and kept reassuring everyone he was getting better, that he was recovering.
His sacrifice for his family, his concern, his independence, and his humility and his simplicity.
These qualities I will forever remember him by.
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