Colourful tapestry
BY any measure, he was a remarkable man. At almost 93, he was still in good physical and mental health, keeping at bay every ailment that commonly afflicts the elderly.
He walked with a near military gait, his back ramrod straight and his mind alert. He had a refreshingly youthful look, made possible by his tall, slim stature, a full head of hair and hardly any loose ugly skin hanging off his lean frame.
He was, undoubtedly, still a handsome man. It would seem the ravages of time took minimum toll on him. He was also a religious and God-fearing man.
The alchemists of ancient China would have found him a worthy subject of study in their elusive quest for longevity and vitality. Incredibly, he lived alone after his beloved wife passed on more than 16 years ago, much to the chagrin of his three children, who often pleaded with him to move in with one of them and were always dismissed as he insisted he was fine on his own.
More often than not, he would lecture them on liberty and freedom, and the pleasures of doing things his own way. Obviously, he was greatly inspired by his favourite song, My Way.
He clearly proved that he was capable of taking care of himself, do simple household chores, keep the house neat and tidy, settle the utility bills and even buy the groceries on his own. He would have his meals at a nearby foodcourt. He also drove around competently in his little Wira.
However, his elder daughter, Rose, would stay with him for months at a stretch, flying in from Australia, at regular intervals while his only son paid him frequent visits.
He attributed his good health to regular exercise. In his younger days, he was a keen footballer and badminton player, and in later years, he went on long brisk walks in the evenings around his neighbourhood.
To keep up his mental alertness, he was always happy to take on a game of mahjong, his most passionate pastime activity. Mahjong requires a player to be dexterous with the shuffling and stacking of the tile cards, and more importantly, it challenges players as they have to mentally multiply and subtract large numbers after every round in the blink of an eye to sort out the winnings and losses. His day was never complete without a session of mahjong. Uncannily, as fate would have it, it was in the midst of a mahjong session that he fell ill and had to be hospitalised.
Whilst in the hospital, he had a premonition that his life was ebbing away. But he was stoic at all times and even in the final moments he sang his favourite My Way, to entertain and lift up the spirits of his loved ones who kept vigil by his side.
Incredibly, he sang it flawlessly despite his deteriorating condition, remembering every single line of the lengthy lyrics, though in a weak voice. He had belted out this song in his melodious baritone voice umpteenth times at various functions over the years, always at the behest of the crowd. It was indeed poignantly appropriate that his last and final rendition of the song was dedicated to his immediate family members.
They gave him the last encore, a fitting tribute to his singing abilities and his life achievements. This momentous tableau was recorded by his granddaughter, Dee.
Perhaps the song was deliberately chosen to mirror his courage and fortitude to face the inevitable, when you consider the opening lyrics: “And now the end is here, And so I face the final curtain ...”
He was exceptionally brave to vocalise those words without even a tear; in such a melancholy situation many mortals would have broken down completely.
Coincidentally, Dee, a medical specialist, was home from London for the Christmas holidays and she helped to closely monitor his condition. Although he kept badgering his children to take him home, he was lovingly told that he needed to be medically stabilised first. Moreover, there was no facility at home to resuscitate him in case of any emergency.
When Dee sensed that he was declining irreversibly, she urgently called her sister, Nee, another medical specialist, to rush home from London. Upon her arrival and after examining him, the entire family huddled in consultation and it was decided, based on the objective opinions of the two doctors in the family, to accede to his emotional pleas to let him go home.
His demise was imminent. Medical science could do no more.
He flashed a weak smile when told that he was going home at last in an ambulance to be accompanied by his granddaughter, Nee. Meanwhile, arrangements were hurriedly made to order a special bed, and the necessary equipment and oxygen to make his stay at home as comfortable as possible.
At about 6 pm, he was happily home, tucked in bed in familiar surroundings with soothing music especially put on at his request. Some moments later, after asking for some water, he fell asleep and around 1.45 am on Christmas Eve, Nee and Dee who had kept watch over him, alerted other members of the family that he was on the verge of going.
Everyone was by his bedside and had the opportunity to bid him farewell with a gentle kiss and whispers of endearments in his ear before he gave a short grunt and breathed his last. He died peacefully.
According to Dee, he would have gone off much earlier if not for his steely determination to hold on to life, his strong constitution and a strong heart.
Indeed, it was precisely these attributes that enabled him to miraculously recover from an operation for severe neck and spine injuries sustained in a bad fall when he was already an octogenarian.
It was his wish to be cremated. His ashes, collected in an urn, were buried in his late wife’s grave.
He had left behind a lovely note in his legibly good handwriting, which among other things, said: “Don’t be too sad. Be happy at the thought that I am joining Mum.” It was unanimously agreed by the family that this portion be engraved in a plague to be erected over his buried ashes.
This man is my late father, Ng Yeow Hean. I miss him dearly, as do my sisters, his grandchildren and great grandchildren. Indeed, Dad, you had woven your life’s wonderful tapestry in your own chosen colours and design.