Missing Someone

I wake up in the middle of the night and as the mists of sleep begin to clear, I begin to think of my Mama. My brain registers that she's not there anymore, sitting in her chair in the little flat at Bedok, and my eyes start to flood.

I did not cry when they brought her body back to the void deck, not when I gazed upon her face, nor when I helped put on a shoe for her (according to the rites). When I speak with my relatives, I am usually smiling and eager to do whatever I can to help.

But in the middle of the night, when nobody is around to watch, I miss my Mama. I miss her SOOO much! And when I am in her flat, sitting in a chair or using the loo, everything seems just so normal, and it's so easy to imagine that she's still there, sitting in her usual chair, or walking slowly around leaning on her walking aid.

I love looking at the photos taken in her youth. She looks so lovely, posing at the tender age of 20 or thereabouts for the camera, and we have a few really pretty ones taken in the studio. My grandma always liked to look pretty (which girl doesn't?), and would always insist on dyeing her hair whenever we brought her to the hairdresser's. Everybody else would try, in vain, to dissuade her, because we all feel that she looks really good with silver hair. Our hairdresser will be asking us, the next time we visit her salon, when Mama will be coming to use her services again. It will be tough.

I never knew it would be this tough.