It pains me to write this but I’ve hoped that I can put off writing this piece as long as possible. But it saddens me that that time has come. I pen this piece in loving memory of my grandma  – affectionately known as Ah Ma – who passed on peacefully in our home, surrounded by her loved ones, earlier this week.

My Ah Ma was the matriarch of the household, a second mum to us, making sure we were well-fed and fetched us to and from pre-school when we were still toddlers. On weekends, we accompanied her to the wet market and temples. As kids, these were like fascinating, little field trips for us as we traversed the little streets in our neighbourhood.

Harking from a pre-WWII period, Ah Ma was a frugal and tough lady who lived through incredibly trying times like her generation of pioneers. Even as modern conveniences proliferated, she stuck to her principles of frugality; living her days without lights and preferring her own cooked meals to packed food.

Her only indulgence was sitting at a corner of the living room watching TV with us whenever we turned it on in the evening. So in her final years when she was bedridden, we installed a small TV in her room so she can watch dramas to pass time. But ascetic as she was, she repeatedly asked for it to be turned off.

Ah Ma was infallible. We never saw her frail except during her final years. Her health declined when she fell getting out of bed one day and fractured her hips. We didn’t know she was hurting so bad because she kept all the pain to herself; it must have been excruciating. This led her to be in and out of hospital and community care several times afterwards.

She almost didn’t make it out of the hospital, but the fight in her saw her back home once again. She was stubborn though, refusing to undergo physio sessions so that she can get back on her feet with a walker, so we let her be. For a period of time, she looked like she could go on forever in this state, but life had a cruel twist.

Ah Ma’s mental state gradually deteriorated as she frequently asked us to help her out of bed. Delirium overwhelmed her soon after and she spent days and nights talking to herself. Nonetheless, she still had intermittent spates of lucidity, being able to recognize her children and grandchildren.

Weeks before her passing, her physical health suffered tremendously. She could not longer ingest solid food or liquid; she had also developed bed sores. The night before she departed, we reverted her to tube feeding, concerned that she could dehydrate or starve to death. Unfortunately, it was too late as she succumbed the next morning.

Nothing could have prepared us for her passing even though we had an inkling that the day was near. Although we grew apart in the later years, the 30-year bond that we had, her watching us grow up to be fine, young men, living under the same roof, the grief is immense to say the least. The sense of loss is unpalatable – it’s like a part of us died inside when she left.

We hope that Ah Ma’s passing has relieved her of all her pain and suffering in her final days that she quietly kept to herself. She’ll be loved and remembered for an eternity by her children and all her descendants. I love you, Ah Ma. See you in heaven.