Grief

I spent Christmas Eve at Marc's wake. Christmas Day was spent at mass in the morning (joyful yet contemplative for me as I listened to the message of Mary's first-born son coming into world and thought about Aunty P's first-born leaving the world) and then at Marc's wake again in the afternoon. Boxing Day morning was spent at Marc's funeral and cremation. By afternoon, I was emotionally tired, eyes swollen and puffy and with a throbbing heavy head that made me feel like throwing up.

It has been emotionally exhausting and draining.

Grief hits at odd times. I'd be fine most of the time. Then break down at odd times. Or find myself with tears in my eyes at the weirdest and most inconvenient moments - like when I am telling someone about Marc, or when I see motorbikes on the road, or when I am in the toilet. Even the sight of a child-sized toilet bowl in the loo set me off! And then I would feel embarrassed at tearing up! I would look at people around me - my in-laws, the general crowd - at a hawker centre, at my children's schools while buying their books and I felt divorced from them all. Detached and wondering - how come they don't know. How come nothing has changed for them? How come things can be so normal for them? Don't they know? His face is on the front page of The New Paper. I see people browsing and I felt like saying: Hey that's my cousin you know?

And the messages of condolences people say drive me nuts. The worse one came from my in-laws. I had my sister-in-law saying chirpily with a big smile: I am sorry for your loss! And her husband saying: Oh that's life right? Life is so unpredictable. I was so angry I teared up. I think they thought I was tearing up because I was sad. But I wasn't. I was angry. Unpredictable? Like we're talking about the weather? What the hell are you saying? You don't know what you're talking about. Just shut up and spare me these pseuo-philosophical babble. And yes I also get angry when people nod and say: yes, those motorbikes are so dangerous. Bikes are not dangerous - other reckless drivers and riders are dangerous!

Sometimes I ask myself: why do I feel so much? Why do I feel so sad? After all, he's 'just' my cousin. And we were not close. I hadn't seen him for two years. And yet. It does not change the fact that I am so sad. I don't know why. And I don't know why being 'just a cousin' would not entitle me to feel grief and pain. I don't think KH really understands, maybe not even my brother and my sister or my mum. Maybe they think I am just being sentimental. Maybe I am.

When mum first told me the news on Sunday, it didn't sink in yet. I still felt the same. I think it only really hit home on Monday, Christmas Eve, when I attended the wake. Marc's body arrived at the wake only a scant 10 minutes after we'd got there. So we got to welcome him home. They put a screen up so we can't see, but it stands to reason that they had to dress Marc and so on, and for his family to see him. The sound of stifled sobs and faint keening was painful to hear.

But yet it wasn't until mum told me HOW he died that I first started to feel. And then the tears came. They were tears of anger and fury. He didn't die out of his own recklessness, and his machine didn't fail him. He died where it was safest to ride - on a track with no cars. He died because of some bloody lame, half-assed, stupid stunt pulled by a stupid idiot who wanted to show off. And now that jerk is alive while Marc is dead. That jerk walked off the track and left my cousin lying there, his body broken. It sounds strange but I wanted to swing my handbag about his head. I wanted to kick him. Slap him. Hard. And then harder. I felt so hot and so angry my chest hurt. Mum told me the bikers' online forums were buzzing about Marc's death and bikers had angry words for the a****** who did this. I wish lynching is legal.

It was Christmas but I didn't feel forgiving or charitable. I just felt so much rage and anger. I still do.

Reading the pages of media coverage on his death only made me angrier. Yes, so what if the other guy came to apologise? It will never bring Marc back. So what if the other guy will have guilt for the rest of his life? At least he's alive isn't he? So what if the guy's father said it was "unfortunate" that Marc died while his son lived, that it was 'fated'. At least his son is alive isn't it? To me, that is the height of insensitivity! My aunt and uncle lost their son. My younger cousin lost his brother. Rachel lost her husband to be. I lost my Christmas Eve memories. Every one of us lost years of memories that will never happen. No, I am nowhere near ready to forgive.

I looked at the bikers who attended Marc's wake and his funeral and I was touched. I never knew he had so many friends. I never knew he was so passionate about biking. He was just kind, quiet Marc with the big gummy grin, who patiently sat with children, carried my baby. How much did I know about my family - my cousins, my aunts and uncles? Time is so short. Everytime we meet at family gatherings everyone would just sit and chat about inane stuff - the world around us, politics, our jobs, children's antics etc. But how well do we know each other? It took Marc's death for me to realise that we just don't know each other well and if we're family, that makes it doubly a pity. Everyone has a story to tell, how much do we really know? What do I take away from all this? I was a journalist - how did I get my stories then? Research and interviews. And I think that's just what I will do. Sit down and really talk. Get to know them. Write it all down. Starting from my grandma - her life story. I never had time for Marc. I want to make time now.

Here's an anecdote about him shared by Steph, another cousin of ours. Steph's family and Marc's family lived in the same block of flats when they were both growing up. Steph's memory of Marc is a short but lovely one. She said: Whenever dad threw me out of the house, kor-kor Marc would come keep me company at the stair landing until I was allowed to go back in. Marc is about 8 years older than Steph, so for a teenaged guy to patiently sit by his little cousin and keep her company - well, you get the idea of the sort of sweet guy he was.

And I see Rachel, Marc's fiancee. I never got to know her. And they were together for at least two years. It all seems so wasted.

Three key incidents over the past days really touched me at this time. First, it was grandma, so saddened by Marc's death. She was the last of us all to see him - he had gone to see her the other day after hearing she was not well. Rachel went with him. Grandma liked Rachel and said she showered her with hugs and kisses! She said Marc didn't say much (he never did!) but just smiled a lot, gave her some money and said he would come see her again. When we heard, in the days before his death, we all thought it was so sweet of him!

Grandma could not leave the house but asked us to buy some flowers for him. It was Christmas Day but mum and I found a flower stall open at the market. We cobbled together some white daisies and yellow roses. The flowers were placed on his casket and followed him into cremation. The sight of that forlorn bouquet sitting at the head of the casket as it entered the cremation chamber really undid me. I thought of his visit to grandma and I cried.

The second incident that really made an impact was to see the long rows of bikes sending him off. There were more than 30 bikes that day, lined up in two long rows behind the hearse, engines revving. It hurt to see Rachel, walking in between the lines, weeping hard and calling loudly through her tears: "Thank you for sending him! Thank you for sending him! Ride safely and carefully!"

And finally, Aunty P's choked voice at the funeral thanking everyone for coming. She started with the words: 28 years ago, my boy came from me... and now 28 years later, he is gone. She went on to say that she was glad that he died doing something he loved so much, and to encourage the other bikers to keep following their passion, to keep riding, not to let Marc's death discourage them, but to also ride safely, practise extreme caution for the people around them.

I am slowly winding back down from all that has happened. I need time to feel better.

Now everytime I see a bike on the road, I think of Marc and tears will come to my eyes. But I think there will come a day when they won't and I will think of Marc with a smile instead. And I will imagine that big gummy grin of his right back in return.