For about 5 minutes as my phone kept beeping in church, my mind fast forwarded to what it could mean, when an old friend says "My condolence." All scenarios played itself out in double-time. It wasn't till a second old contact called that I knew in my heart of hearts, that it was what I dared not imagine.
My children's biological father passed away in the wee hours of this morning. He was only 41 years, 1 month and 22 days old.
I am surprised at myself. That it shook me enough to sink me to the ground and burst into tears. And it still does, hours later. Better get any tear-shedding done and out of the way. It won't do for another little girl to ask her mummy who I am and why I was looking at her daddy and crying.
If we had been better people, better human beings, we would have found ways to remain friends and co-exist in the lives of two other people we created. But we were not, and we will now never be. And I suppose that is ultimately it.
Perhaps, part of me, always thought that one day, in the justified world of right and wrong, my phone would ring or my email box would have a message, saying "I'm sorry" and that he would like to make it up to Lydia and Luke. Perhaps, he might have thought it and perhaps he also thought that he would live forever and so had all the time in the world to do it.
My religion tells me that when our souls leave our bodies, we go and stand before God, accounting for all the things we have done in our lives. I would like to think that God is now coming to that bit where He goes "So that episode, when you decided that you would no longer care or acknowledge that you have two children... How's about that one?" I cannot for the life of me, formulate his reply for him.
Our friends (yes, we still keep mutual friends) thought I ought to go - do the right thing and pay my last respects. I thought so as well, after all, everything is done and dusted already. With the exception of Ben, my friends thought otherwise. I am torn. But as Paul rightfully said - it's not should or should not, but want or don't want. And it is a whole lot of soul-searching to arrive at which side of the line I stand on.
Just last night, my darling boy, rushed from one thing to another, sat in his chair, dog-tired, telling me how you don't really realise what you have lost until it's gone. How his mum used to ring him asking what time he'd be home and to say that dinner was on the table, and how he missed it after she left (yes, he can't bring himself to say the d-word).
And being the darling that he is, my Jiminy Cricket, he says I should be there. This last time. Regardless of what had happened before, if I didn't do this, I would always be haunted by it and never close that chapter fully. And that because it is as it has turned out now, I need that closure myself in order to help Lydia and Luke close theirs when their turn comes as they grow older.
When I woke up this morning, I did not think today would unfold as such. If I am to learn anything today, it would only to re-emphasize just how short life is. We can love today, we can keep love for tomorrow. We can hold grudges, we can offer forgiveness. We can hold apologies, we can show magnanimity.
There is no right or wrong answer. It boils down to what we choose and being able to live with that choice.
So yes, I will go and stand before a box in a hall today. I will dress myself in black and mourn for a moment as I would be required to mourn if things were different back then. And I do not need a reason to justify why I will do all these things, when I do not have to.
For a spell, he was my sun and moon, day and night. We built dreams and we fought through their disappearance. What we had, we shared. For a spell, we had a world of our own and I have Lydia and Luke to show for it.
In Memoriam
Chang Say Peng, Ray
26th August 1968 ~ 17th October 2009
Leaves behind a legacy of broken dreams and 3 children
At best, he tried...
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