A tiny blip in the continuum

I blocked it out the best I could when I heard the news earlier that day. Somehow, in the midst of all that had to be done on that working weekend day, it was relatively easy; the rigors of what was at hand – what needed to be done in the name of work – granted no time for me to sit down and let the news sink in.

Amy’s mother passed away on Sunday morning.

I did not receive the news first-hand, but through a mutual friend who had received an SMS from someone else who had received it from the family. To have been informed via a Chinese whisper chain of notifications only made the fact that I have fallen out of the loop more apparent; regardless, the gravity of the news remained the same.

I kept up a smiling front and carried on with the rest of the day as though nothing was wrong. I had to separate my personal life from what was expected of me in a professional capacity. The day ended very late and I could only inform Amy that I would attend the wake the following night.

* * * * * *

Amy’s father was shocked to see me. Certainly, in the constant stream of relatives and friends that has been flowing into that semi-detached bungalow that evening, he would have least expected that I turned up, for the simple fact that I was an ex-boyfriend.

For a few seconds, he searched my face, a finger frozen in mid-air, as I stood before him. But he was glad. I knew he was. He fumbled a little, as he always had, as he took my hand.

‘Come,’ he said. Then, with a hand in the crook of my arm, he led me into the house.

Two candles stood on a make-shift table before the casket, with a small stack of prayer books fanned out between them. I stood before her and said all that I had been meaning to say to her. Then I approached the casket.

* * * * * *

She looked so small.

I clenched my jaw but the tears welled nonetheless.

Right then, Amy came down the stairs with a group of friends. Her lips quivered the moment she saw me. Choking back, and with arms outreached, she came to me, like a small child looking for a hug. She buried her face in my neck. I held on to her for dear life.

* * * * * *

I recognized so many familiar faces and remembered so many names. Members of a family I once knew. Once part of, even. There were small nods which came my way. I returned all of them. And there were the murmurs and glances which I ignored. I was the one guy who has been too far out of the orbit to be considered family yet having been once significant enough to be considered merely a friend.

I could not bear being at the wake as just a guest. I refused to be. I hunkered down and helped Amy and her sister, along with some cousins of theirs, with the myriad chores that had to be done. I cleared tables and offered drinks. I thought I could avoid all the searching glances that way.

I watched Amy all the while. She smiled, chatted and laughed as best as she could. But I knew the veneer, strong as it might have appeared, was only surface deep. I watched her the whole time, worried for her.

Gradually, as the night progressed, the awkwardness subsided and an easy familiarity between us became palpable as we went about our affairs. It was the sort of familiarity that one would gain from having spent two years in a relationship, and one which transcended friendship.

* * * * * *

She watched as the pallbearers emerged from the house. From across the lawn, I could only watch as she cupped a hand to her mouth and broke down. The reality and the clarity that she has unyieldingly shut out in favor of attending to more pressing matters had finally caught up.

I could only watch.

* * * * * *

‘This was the same route we had always taken on our way to church,’ Amy managed just moments before she broke down again. ‘That is why it is all the more difficult.’

I have never been to a cremation.

All that I saw, at every turn of the head, was heartwrenching. And all has been seared into memory.

* * * * * *

I placed the rose in her clasped hands. My vision blurred once more.

I cried in regret. For not having talked to her in the weeks leading up to her final moments. For not having known her better. For not having said all that I wanted to say about why her daughter and I could no longer be together.

I never called. Why?

But I know I could never forgive myself for not having done so.

* * * * * *

I thought I would be strong enough to finish this entry. I thought that maybe all that I had felt in the past two days were transient, and that they would pass. I thought that perhaps it was only in the thick of the situation at hand that I felt the way I did. And I thought, by forcing my hand to lay down into words all that I needed to say, I could better place my emotions.

I thought wrong.

But never have I had more clarity of mind.

It is ironic, in the collision of the events which had unfolded in the past week, that this blog would end with an entry about the same person who has spurred its inception.

I should have stopped writing. But I had to say all that I had harbored in my heart for the past few days, just so that I could find the peace to carry on.