The Day The First Lady Passed Away

The Day The First Lady Passed Away

 

It was still a raining and cold day. (which for me a sneezy and itchy nose day, too). Somebody from work heard from the radio that she passed away after the long battle with cancer. At night, we watched the rerun of the funeral, how Pak Lah and the kids look so calm. I didn’t expect them to cry unnecessarily at the funeral, not because they are public figures and they have to put up good faces in front of the live camera, but because I know, they have expected her to go. I’m not surprised they don’t look so terribly sad. But I know, they will be, coming Hari Raya two weeks later.

 

There was a sharp pain my tummy when I saw the funeral on tv. It reminds me the cancer battle that late Along faced. While she fought her own battle, we, the people around her, fought our own, of knowing that it is a battle one can hardly survive.

 

Cancer has always been instrumental to me. When a good of girlfriend of mine knew her brother had one, I cried to sleep. I know her and the whole family will be going through the same thing mine had. How terrified we were at the moment we discovered. Then we wondered whether it was Stage 2 or 4. We remember the feeling of uncomfortable and impatience we are outside the operating theatre for the surgical to remove the whole lump, how they fasted 24 hours before the surgery.  How weak they are after going on chemotherapy. (Oh I never forget how much do I hate the chemo word!) How we cried silently whenever we tried to feed them after the chemo and they threw up. The enormous numbers of pills doctor tried to shove into their dry mouth.  We remember trying to be strong when they asked for water to wuduk and how difficult they were trying to perform solah while lying on the hospital bed.

 

We went through the days making their bed and found the strings of hair, falling from their head, on the pillow. We cried, quickly wiping our tears off whenever someone else walked into the room.

 

Then they got better. They always got better. Still the pills are like the pebbles at the shore. We went thru the days convincing ourselves that we are not losing them, that they could see we graduating, getting married, that they could see our babies being born and learn to walk. We prayed to The Almighty One that He will spare their lives until we had proved we had done enough for them and shown them how much they meant to us.

 

The day will then come, when their cells lose their own battle to the cancer. It’ll start with the normal fever, untreated coughs, then by the time you know it, they have trouble walking. We know the day had came, we just don’t know how long more they will endure their pain. Then we had our own time, praying to The Almighty One on taking their lives as fast as He could, since we can no longer bear seeing them in bed. We cried listening to ourselves talking that out loud.

 

For my Along during her second wave, was told that she might be diabetic. She came home from the clinic, announcing that she will no longer take rice, sweet foods. We smiled, knowing that it’s not diabetes, it’s just the cells now taking charge of her kidney. Then it came worse, so quick, then the next doctor meeting, he silently told us to feed her anything that she likes. I remember we made a very sweet agar-agar but soft and fed into her mouth. She was surprised, we know, that we fed her something that she vowed not to eat, but she shoved the agar-agar down her throat anyway, putting up a fake smile. The second wave was actually much much worse than the chemo, because we know it is the time. Still we tried to find cure to this Mr Cancer. We thought the traditional way might work, we prayed so hard at nights, we tried alternative healing but at the end, we just couldn’t bear putting them on the false hopes anymore.

 

We read Quran when they went to sleep, checking them every now and then between the pages. People then start to come to see her, thinking that they might want to see her for the last time. We just hate those who come and sit by her bed, trying to make she talk. We just prayed those would leave for she needed the rest. We remember walking into their room at nights, checking up whether the chests are still moving up and down, showing life signs, every two hours. We just clutched our own hands when we see how they are cleaned up, for they can no longer go to the loo. We read papers to them, telling them the daily happenings of the country, for they can no longer focus on the small printings of the dailies. We massaged their back softly when they softly cried of the back pain (of lying down so much). It hurt to know that they are in pain, but they just couldn’t locate exactly where the pain are, and we feel so terribly HELPLESS.

 

When they go, they always go peacefully. People said that the sins are washed away by the long pain they have endured. We calmed ourselves, saying that it is the best, they can no longer endure any more pain. We thanked those who came to the funeral, eventhough we can hardly match the names with the faces.

 

But coming home, we broke into tears seeing the empty room, the place where we sit to read them papers. The pills bottles, half are empty. We can still smell them as we stiffed thru the blanket and the pillows. And we just don’t want to get the room cleaned up and re-organized, for we thought we are still waiting them to come home from their regular check up at the doctor’s.

 

They fought their own battle, and we always had our own. I would say they won their battle, went peacefully, to their Creator. We? We thought we are cool, until another person we know goes. And our own battle story flashed into our grieving mind.

 

Al Fatihah to Along, to Mohd Ali Ikram* and to Datin Seri Endon. These are the real heroes, my real heroes.

 

*This is not the actual name of his. It’s just the way he liked to write during his childhood.