That night, each of us lost someone dear to us, someone who made an impact in our lives, directly or indirectly.

That night was a night worth remembering.

She lost her mother, he lost his wife, she lost her aunt, he lost his grandmother, she lost her child; the people gathered at the wake that night had lost someone special.

No one cried. I wonder how much of a good thing that is. No one frowned. But it was easy to tell how sadness had filled the faces of all those people. In fact, it was almost impossible to hide the heartache in their eyes.

Just a week after her birthday, she laid in a gold-tainted coffin wearing her favourite Punjabi suit. She was all smiles. Everyone who saw her commented on how happy she looked, as though she had been freed from all the pains she suffered while living on this earth.

All who came to mourn for her left flowers at her feet and gently touched her feet as a form of respect. They walked around the coffin before standing at her feet, with their hands together, praying for her to be at peace. She continued to smile. With her eyes closed and her hands over her stomach, she continued to smile. It seemed as if she was thanking all these people who have come to send her off.

It was, indeed, a heart-wrenching sight. For her husband who never left her body, for her daughter who cried out hysterically at the hospital, for her nieces and nephews who watched her breathe her last breath, for her parents who painstakingly brought her up; it was too much to handle for every one of us but we still held our heads high, secretly feeling proud of her for putting up a strong fight even while standing at death’s door.

Even all the positive words summed up wouldn’t be enough to praise her for the life she led and the things she had done for others. She was always second and it didn’t bother her that she never got a chance to stop making sacrifices for others. She was a religious woman and left all her faith in the hands of God.

She housed her married daughter and elderly parents, provided them a roof above their heads and a filial heart, not forgetting the financial support. She funded her second daughter’s overseas education and even while being miles away, she never forgets to lend her listening-ear whenever. She loved her grandson, nieces and nephews all the same, showering them with all the warmth and love she could have ever given her own.

Life wasn’t always that kind to her. She lived with her husband for years only to find out he had cheated on her. She lived with diabetes and sometimes, lived with aches in her joints and back. Sure enough, she groaned and blamed God for making her suffer despite her having placed her heart in His hands but that never stopped her from believing.

It was hard to imagine a heart-attack would take her life. The degree of fatalness was unclear to us who did not understand those medical terms. But I guess even as doctors, no one would have thought she would still leave the face of this earth after her first operation.

They said it was a tear in her heart, and they later sewed a piece of horse skin to cover that tear. But things did not go as smoothly. She was transferred to another hospital for a second operation with the doctors stating there was too much water in her lungs. She was sedated and left provided for by a life-support machine. She didn’t wake up from the heavy sedation; it was what kept her from witnessing the tears in our eyes.

At five in the morning on a Friday, the phone rang. We panicked. Our hearts raced as we rushed to inform every immediate family member and at the same time, our physical bodies moved at the speed of light. We changed out of our nightwear, brushed our teeth, washed our faces, in our hearts, still quietly and desperately calling out to God. We flagged a cab and within minutes, we were by her side.

Her hands were cold. Her feet were cold. They continued to pump her heart. She didn’t move. The screen displayed her falling heartbeat. It got slower with each second. She fought only long enough for all of us to assemble in front of her, before leaving us.

It was saddening.

That woman - the oldest of all her siblings, the greatest of all our aunts and uncles – had left after fighting a timeless battle.

I had a lot of love to share with her. It was never-ending. Sundays at her house were always filled with laughter at the dining table and small talks in the living room.

That sight was lovely and it is beyond all words.

As we watched her coffin being wheeled towards the incinerator, there was no more energy left to hold back our tears. My mom wrapped her arms around me as she witnessed her sister move on at a young age. I felt my heart drop, and I knew everyone around me felt the same way.
All those fifty-two years she had lived, it was not in vain. She was loved and she loved others the same. She was praised and her existence was celebrated. She will be remembered always without a doubt and kept close in our memories. She gave more than she had and in return, God gave her peace by His side.

Truth is, I believe God brought her closer to sanity than any one of us has ever been.