Sending off

In a short span of three months, two close relatives have passed on. First one to go was my very dear fourth aunt in July. And just last week, my maternal grandpa left us so suddenly. The latest death, especially, has unravelled a long trail of issues that have left me with such mixed feelings. Some members of my mother's family have jokingly suggested I write a book on the family. You know, with the complicated happenings over the last 50 years in this household, I think I could really win a print prize with the book. A short story prize, maybe.

BURIAL AT SEA:
At 10.30 this morning, nine of us gathered at Clifford Pier to take the bumboat out to sea to scatter the ashes of my grandpa. The boat took us out to somewhere in East Coast, which the Singapore Casket employee (who came with us) said was less dangerous cos there were fewer boats around in case of a possible collision.

There were some light moments. Like when my oldest aunt, who was cradling the bag of ashes so carefully, was afraid that she would drop the bag while crossing from one shaky bumboat to another. We told her to sling the bag on her arm but she said she didn't want my grandpa to be "gong dio" ie hit against, in Hokkien. My cousin and I looked at each other in amusement, while my mother just chuckled.

When we reached East Coast waters, each of us grabbed a handful of my grandpa's bones - they were all reduced to tiny pieces - and threw them out to see. We then scattered fresh flowers. It was all over in a matter of five to 10 minutes.

Another light moment: Uncle R followed the Singapore Casket employee's instructions word for word, dumping the two plastic bags in the water as well. We all couldn't help exclaiming: "Ah? Plastic bag also throw into the sea?" My mother added, without a slight laugh: "Isn't that littering?" Then as usual, there was a racuous, but short, discussion on why he shouldn't have thrown the non-biodegradable plastic bags as well. Uncle R's answer? Just following instructions what, how I know?

MANDAI CREMATORIUM AND COLUMBARIUM
This new construction is really worlds apart from Mount Vernon, where my dad's niche is housed. The Mandai place looks like the NUS Cultural Centre and I'm not joking. The dead are sent off in style here. The architecture is so modern and minimalistic, using light-coloured wood, glass and metal as its main building materials. There are also peaceful pockets of green park, with seats, for you to relax in, like a country club. There are rectangular pools of water that just remind you of Zen. Very peaceful and I think that's the idea the designers wanted to give the place. To give grieving family members a sense of peace.

Even the contraption transporting the coffin into the service hall is automated. The service hall looks fit to house an intimate performance. The ceiling and spotlights are so fashionably designed, there's even a skylight directly above where the coffin lies. My brother said it sort of symbolises the dead rising to heaven when you see the rays shining through the skylight.

The viewing gallery is also so different from Mount Vernon's. During my dad's funeral, it was extremely traumatic to see the coffin shoved into the hole for cremation. But at Mandai, through the viewing window on an upper storey, you simply look down and watch the automated contraption carry the coffin through a doorway. After which, two zen-looking wooden doors close slowly. No shoving needed. It was all very clinical I must say.

After that all 15 of us walked to Block C to visit my fourth aunt's niche. It was also the first time my mum and her siblings visited their grandma's niche, which was in the same block. And here, a mystery was solved. You see, my grandpa is the adopted son of his foster mother (ie the grandma I just mentioned). But my mum and her siblings never knew how he was related to his foster mother.

It's really complicated to explain here, but at the niche, they found out (through the help of me and my cousin who can read Mandarin) that my grandpa was actually the nephew of his foster mother. That is, my grandpa's biological father was the brother of this foster mother.

Anyways, this is just a foretaste of the complicated nature of the Gan family. Maybe one day when my mind is clearer, I'll turn novelist for their sake.