You Are Loved

Hanhan,

One day closer to your death anniversary and my heart is growing heavier by the day … I wish I could reach inside my head, take you out from my mind and put you here in front of me, so I can tell you that I do love you. You will probably look at me with a bemused look since our family have never been expressive in showing our feelings. I want to remember you, the things that we used to do. I can only rely on my memories, that will only be dulled down and greyed out with time.

Rest well … we’re doing well here, just missing you a lot. You probably know that Sianne have to sell nasi rames to keep the family going. Are you allowed to feel concerned or heartbroken above? I wish things didn’t happen this way but I have my faith that God’s allowed this to happen to bring goodness. Your family are missing you a lot. I miss you a lot too. We all do.

I keep on remembering you at your little shop – you can probably see from above that  the shop has changed now. Your children are missing you, you know. Kenneth is growing by the day and the last time I saw him around our parents’ Golden Wedding Anniversary, he even mistook me for you at one point. It broke my heart. Then one evening, as I played with your children, Kenneth climbed on my legs and wanted me to play ucang angge with him. Sheren looked at us and suddenly turned really quiet. I knew. I asked her, “Papa used to play this, right?” She nodded, but didn’t say anything.  Her eyes told me everything. In their sweet innoncent little way, they knew that you had gone up, ahead of us.

I know that we would meet again someday. There won’t be any sadness nor tears in Heaven. I remember the line of a song that says, “Would you know my name, if I saw you in Heaven?”. Would you recognise me as your brother on the earth? Would I still be allowed to cry and feel sad and relieved and happy at the same time when we meet again? Sometimes I wish that this were really a prolonged nightmare – that you were still there in Bandung, with your family. I still keep your mobile phone in my mobile phone, Hanhan. I don’t dare to delete it … it’s a piece of you that I carry with me. Silly I know, but I don’t have the heart to delete your number …

I wish something could take the pain away from my heart – did you really know this time last year, five days before you were meant to go, that you were leaving soon? I wish I had given you a call. I wish I had given you a hug. There are still so many I wish, could’ve, and should’ve and I know that they won’t bring you back.

You are well-loved and well-remembered, even after you’re gone.
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