Pressing on despite deep pain
The pain of losing a loved one is indescribable, let alone losing one’s entire family.
by: Mabel Lim and Tan Yu Jia
Uncle Low peered at the metal bars of his front door as we waved to him. He was sitting alone in his flat and looked like he had been sitting there for quite a long while, watching the afternoon pass by slowly.
Just hours ago, volunteers from Project Refresh had completed a clean-up of his house, and it was looking neat and tidy. The volunteers had shared briefly about Uncle Low with us and encouraged us to speak to him.
The small flat looked very wide for Uncle Low, who cut a slim and frail figure in the living room. He has always been living alone. But we had learnt from the volunteers that it was not his choice. One after another, he had lost his wife and three children to a hereditary illness decades ago.
The pain of losing a loved one is indescribable, let alone losing one’s entire family. Even though we knew the context of his story, asking the right questions was not easy. It was going to be a tough interview.
As we waved at the gates, Uncle Low blinked and got up to open the door to us with a steady look on his face. We smiled, unsure of how to approach him at first, but began to take in the surroundings.
His house was spick and span, with cream-colored armchairs facing a low wooden TV console, on a sparkling clean white tiled floor. It had clear signs of a well-kept life.
Uncle Low looked mostly stoic and calm, carrying a lined face yet making one feel like he was always unruffled by life. It was hard to tell if this was a strong man or a strong front.
“We’re here to hear your story, Uncle,” we said.
He nodded but said that he didn’t have a lot to share.
“What do you want me to say? My life is just like that,” he said.
Still, he was rather forthcoming and filled us in with the basic details of his life.
Uncle Low was born in 1943, and is now a wise and weathered 76-year-old. He used to live in the old HDB flats at Bedok North, but it went through enbloc and he shifted to his current flat in Kaki Bukit.
Despite his age, he actually only retired 2 years ago from his job as a planter. In his job, he had planted trees all across Singapore and played a part in beautifying our garden city (thank you, Uncle!).
But he injured his left hand on the job. It became immobile and he could not continue working. Though he needed to undergo further treatment on his hand and leg, he could not afford the surgery fee, and only relies on his Medisave subsidies to continue some treatment.
But again, he lives a well-kept life. Anytime he feels unwell, he would seek medical help at the clinic, he said.
Uncle Low keeps himself busy from day to night as well. Every day, he wakes up at 7am to go for a morning stroll (he prefers exercising in the morning than under the hot afternoon sun), and heads to the coffeeshop to have a daily kopi. Sometimes, he’d head to the nearby senior care centre and chat with other old folks. Volunteers from the senior care centre also follow up on him and call him every month, he said.
But when asked if he had any friends, Uncle Low said no. The sense of steely isolation was apparent in his voice.
From the armchairs, we could see through the half open door of the bedroom a neatly pulled bedspread over a single bed, ruffling gently with the afternoon breeze. The house seemed to grow bigger with every moment of the interview. Tentatively, we asked him about his family.
Here, he became tight-lipped, and only described the situation briefly. His wife passed away when she was only 46 years old, and soon after he also lost three of his sons in their twenties, all due to an unknown, hereditary illness.
It all came in a sudden short period of time, one blow after the other. His youngest son was only in National Service when he was struck by the illness and passed on.
“I don’t know what happened. It just happened,” he said matter-of-factly. If he felt helpless, he didn’t show it.
When talking about his family, Uncle Low always remained vague, as if coming close to the topic again might be too painful for him.
“I don’t want to think about my family now. It helps me to feel better,” he said. “Even if I think about them, I can’t do anything about what happened.”
The topic about his family went like that — he had decided not to speak much about it, and every question we asked about them quickly ran flat. He had chosen to guard his memories of them, and we respected that.
To him, that is the past, albeit a painful past. But he knows he still has his present life to live. As the conversation went on, Uncle Low became more animated as he showed us his mobile phone.
He doesn’t just have one smartphone, but three. One to listen to his favourite music, another one to call people, and the last one a special gift from Changi General Hospital, to contact the senior care centre in case of any emergency.
“Uncle, you’re way more tech-savvy than most people,” we marvelled. We asked him to show us what he does on his phone. He obliged readily; whipping out his white iPhone 7+, he clicked the 4D lottery app and showed us how he checks his lottery ticket results. Some days, he would open the app for other old folks to check their tickets too.
But the battery drains very quickly on an iPhone, so he only uses it to check his 4D winnings and call people, he said.
On his other phone, he loves watching YouTube videos of singing performances, specifically by his favourite singer, Teresa Teng (邓丽君).
He even catches up with people who do covers of her songs. Happily, he opened his YouTube app and showed us a video of a Thai singer crooning a classic Teresa Teng cover on stage.
“But she’s not as good as the original,” he commented. He found a video of the actual legendary singer to share with us. We watched a few more singing performances with him, with Teresa Teng’s sweet and gentle voice filling the house, and saw how the songs lit up his face.
At the end of the interview, Uncle Low seemed to be in better spirits. We asked if we could take a few photos with him, and he agreed readily, even asking if he could use his own phone to take a few shots so he could keep it.
Thank you Uncle Low for opening your heart to us. Grief can hit hard, and pain in life can be inexpressible. It is indeed a hard journey for him to go through all these years. Hearing his story has taught us to press on through our life as well, making the best out of every day, finding a song to sing amidst the pain. We hope Uncle Low will find more friends who surround him and experience a deeper warmth to fill his life in the days ahead.