In Memoriam

Nicholas Chong

17th June 1943 - 11th June 2005

Mum’s elder brother passed away on Saturday. He had been in a coma for 2 weeks since hitting his head from a fall. One Sunday morning he was getting into his wheelchair and unfortunately, the brakes weren’t engaged properly.

Uncle Nicholas had led a difficult life. When my grandmother was pregnant with him, my grandfather’s first wife whacked her on her stomach with a char-khiak (wooden clog). Apparently the blow impacted on the baby's head and my grandmother had to be hospitalised for bleeding. Don’t know if it made any difference, but Uncle Nicholas was born …slow. When he was a baby, he was pushed down a 27-stairs taircase by the three elder children of the first wife. That can’t have helped.

My grandfather had three wives and sixteen children, not including a few who died or were given away. Children, that is. With all that juggling, well, if you’re slow, it’s safe to say that you certainly wouldn’t have gotten any attention from the old man. I’m sad to confess that I don’t really know much about the life of Uncle Nicholas apart from these scandalous bits of information.

He never married and worked in KL as a cinema usher back in the days when cinemas were called "halls" and you’d find the occasional cat wandering through the aisles. Whilst I didn’t have much awareness of his existence, he evidently has me in his thoughts. Once, in my teens, I received a birthday card from him, right out of the blue. I didn’t even know that he knew my birthdate, up till then. It was a simple, generic card, with a picture of birds and flowers. His handwriting was shaky and child-like, and he signed, "Love, Uncle Nicholas". Shamefully, I didn’t even know who "Uncle Nicholas" was at the time, and had to ask Mum. I’d always known of him by his Chinese name.

Several years ago, he had a stroke and Mum brought him back to live in Malacca. She had two other brothers living in KL but they couldn’t take him in, having too many commitments of their own. Mum’s elder sister in Malacca couldn’t take him in either as she didn’t have the resources to spare. It was then left to either Mum or her youngest brother. Since we live on the fourth floor of a walk-up apartment block, it would have been impracticable for us to take him, given that he was confined to a wheelchair. Mum then suggested to her brother that Uncle Nicholas stay with him since he had a house with ample grounds. Mum would pay for a maid and bear the cost of building another room for him if necessary.

Well. Mum ended up buying a small terrace house and hiring a maid to look after Uncle Nicholas. Conveniently, since there was a free premises available, my youngest uncle’s wife and her friend started running an old folks’ home (I know I could use "retirement home", but truly, it wasn’t anywhere near that glam) from the house. It was convenient, I guess, since there would be care and company for Uncle Nicholas. Mum initially got involved, handling the marketing of the home, given that she has extensive contacts. Eventually though, Mum exited the business due to conflicting philosophies. She had an inconvenient tendency to give massive discounts and waive requirements.

The home was later moved to another house just across the road from my aunt’s friend’s house so that she could keep a closer eye on the residents. Bizarrely, Uncle Nicholas was required to pay fees. I wonder if they thought he’d miraculously pluck money from the sky. Mum visited him often and would give him pocket money so that he could pay (he insisted that he pay himself, despite occasionally being in tears at the reality that he could not). She’d also bring groceries to be used for his meals and the other residents in general and Dad sorted out his medical care.

Mum then bullied her half-brother (my grandfather’s eldest child) into finally selling my grandfather’s land (he’d been putting it off for years and years, with one excuse after the other despite requests from his brothers) and dividing the proceeds amongst all the surviving children. At least Uncle Nicholas could have the dignity of having his own money. Here’s an unrelated but rather scandalous titbit … my aunt from my third grandmother (she only had one surviving daughter) didn’t receive a share. Fortunately, she’s quite comfortable in her life, and anyway Mum, on realising the omission, gave most of her own share to my third grandmother, telling her that grandfather would have wanted her to have it. Quite the lie, but hey, it made the old lady happy and my aunt didn’t get hurt in knowing about being left out. The politics of it all.

For some years, Uncle Nicholas would be bundled with his wheelchair to my youngest uncle’s house for the annual Chinese New Year gathering to spend with the siblings & half-siblings. My cousin Danny (youngest uncle’s second son) was instrumental in his care and inclusion, often being the one who would remember and care. One year, Danny wasn’t around and Mum got a call from Uncle Nicholas who was in tears because he had gotten all dressed in the morning and waited all day but nobody came to get him. Apparently a decision had been made not to get him because it was…inconvenient. Well, Mum had a blazing row with youngest uncle over that and we went to get Uncle Nicholas and brought him to youngest uncle’s house for the family gathering. Regretfully, I overheard my aunt exclaim "Eh, who brought you here?" when she saw him.

It hit me that night, how I was as guilty of the mass neglect of Uncle Nicholas. I spent a lot of that night staying with him and looking out for his mobility and comfort. I started visiting him at the home on my own. I don’t kid myself to even think that it was enough, though. After all, those were just irregular "on-the-way" visits as I came in and out of Malacca. Once I bought him some sweet pastries because, well, I had no idea what he liked. Mum later told me that he’s not supposed to eat sweet stuff, but hey, he seemed really pleased so heck, I’m glad I did it anyway.

Just before Chinese New Year this year I gave Uncle Nicholas money in ten-dollar denominations so that he could pack ang pows for nephews and nieces whom, I sadly thought to myself, he wouldn’t see anyway. We had stopped going for the annual family gatherings at my youngest uncle’s house after that year and I think there weren’t any such full-scale events after that either. But he seemed quite happy with the idea that he could prepare the packets, whether or not they would actually be given out.

In his last year of life, Uncle Nicholas became a Christian. Apparently certain Christian denominations make the rounds at hospices and old folks’ homes offering fellowship and enlightenment. A van would come to the home every Sunday and take him to church. My usual cynicism aside, I’m glad that he had found, in his last year, companionship and something to look forward to every week.

Uncle Nicholas was cremated yesterday. One of Mum’s brothers who had come from KL for the wake on Saturday night wanted to skip the cremation the next day for no particular reason other than he didn’t want to stay the night. Given that even half brothers and sisters came from KL to attend the funeral, this wasn’t the best decision. He must have been shamed into staying, cos he was still around the next day.

Mum was with Uncle Nicholas in the hospital as his blood pressure fell steadily until the monitor finally registered a flatline. Danny was a rock, I’m thankful that he was the one who was with Mum at the time. Danny would have had to take immediate charge, he even changed Uncle Nicholas’ clothes in the mortuary. Danny's mum arranged for the urn and a spot in the columbariam.

By the time I got home on Saturday night, even Dad’s eyes were puffy. Mum’s grief was devastating. Throughout the service right to the final send-off in the crematorium she cried his name and held on to the casket for as long as she could. In supporting her I could feel the weight of her terrible grief. As we were leaving the crematorium, Mum saw Uncle Nicholas’ bible, left behind, forgotten, on the table with the flowers. I guessed nobody wanted it, nor even registered that it had been his. Mum keeps it now.

I write this with heavy regret in my heart. Three weeks ago, one of my cousins here in KL got married. Mum, her elder sister and youngest brother and his family came up. Without Uncle Nicholas of course. Anyway, somewhere along the way, I gave my aunt token pocket money. Some background… when I was a child, we used to call her Hern Twor Chien Ah Yee, literally meaning Aunt Lotsa Money because she’d give us a couple of dollars each time we saw her. In recent years, I realised that in fact, she has since fallen on hard times. So it was with some poignancy that I felt that I could now give something back to my "Aunt Lotsa Money". At that time, I made a mental note to set aside something for Uncle Nicholas and to visit him soon.

It wasn’t a pleasant visit yesterday. Placing my hand on his casket had to suffice. He is gone, and although I know that at least his suffering has ended, I am filled with regret. The least I can do now is to remember his life and honour him in memory.

There’s so much that we, in our self-absorption, take for granted. In our lives filled with family, friends, colleagues, lovers and enemies alike, we complain about not having enough time for ourselves or that our so-and-so forgot about an anniversary, a date, or to take out the garbage. What’s all that, compared to having your very existence forgotten or marginalised?

This is for my Ah Q Nicholas. May he rest in peace.

Spend all your time waiting
For that second chance
For a break that would make it okay
There’s always one reason
To feel not good enough
And it’s hard at the end of the day
I need some distraction
Oh beautiful release
Memory seeps from my veins
Let me be empty
And weightless and maybe
I’ll find some peace tonight

In the arms of an angel
Fly away from here
From this dark cold hotel room
And the endlessness that you fear
You are pulled from the wreckage
Of your silent reverie
You’re in the arms of the angel
May you find some comfort there

from Angel, by Sarah McLachlan