Daddy met Mummy when she was just 15 years old. They used to meet at Tanjong Pagar railway station. Theirs was quite an unusual love affair considering that mixed marriages were so rare in those days. Although Mummy was biologically Chinese, she was raised a Sinhalese by her adoptive family. She did not speak Chinese and was a staunch Buddhist, attending Sunday school and was well versed in Pali chants.
That Daddy had married her when there was this cultural divide showed how much he loved her and was prepared to go against accepted norms. Indeed, those were the happiest days of his life. He told us that one day when he was lying on her bed, crying, a few days after her funeral, when there was a calm around the house.
When they were still courting, Daddy gave Mummy a tiny heart-shaped locket with her photo in it. Old and discoloured, my brother had kept it all these years. When Daddy was crying because he was thinking of her and how happy he had been with her, my brother took the locket out from his pocket and gave it back to Daddy. So now, wherever Daddy goes, Mummy would be with him.
When Daddy retired more than 20 years ago and bought his dream house with his retirement money, I'm sure he had planned to enjoy his retirement with Mummy. I had expected them to go on holidays, visit old friends. If dementia had not struck Mummy, I think they would be happily gallivanting and catching up with old friends.
Daddy would not leave Mummy when she became immobile and housebound. He would take care of all her needs, ensuring that she ate well, talking to her all the time. Even when she's gone, he still talked to her. In his heart, she is not gone. When he saw that our names were not inscribed in the marble slab in her niche, he felt that we were abandoning her.
On 26 April this year, four years after Mummy passed away, Daddy left us. The next day would have been their 58th wedding anniversary.
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