The clock shows 3.07p.m. Bonda calls me up and says "Hajar, Mak Ncik meninggal, pukul 1 tadi". I did not have anything to say except 'I didn't even know she was sick' and 'I can't go'.
And then I put down the phone. Nenda calls me up. She is crying. I tell her, I cannot go and leave all this work. She continues crying but says ok.
I put down the phone. And I remember something. The last time I saw her was during Aizul's wedding. I remember I was the 1st one to see her arrive. I remember me, a 28 year old running towards her like a little child and giving her this huge bear hug. I remember holding her hand and leading her to the wedding reception. I remember salam cium tangan dia because I had to go back early and I said to her 'Jumpa lagi'. There was no next time except for this.
I drop everything and tell Nenda, I am going.
We drive all the way to Bentong for the funeral. It was slightly drizzling. And after saying our goodbyes, came back home.
I came to know that she passed away in her sleep, just like her husband a few months back.
I don't understand when people tell me 'It was a beautiful funeral...'. Maybe it is something they want to convince themselves of so that they will feel better. I do not see any beauty, only grief.
I remember a saying by Khalil Gibran:-