In Memoriam: Ruth Phung 1917–2009

I got a phone call this morning at about 7:43am (Seattle time). It was about 11:43pm in KL, Malaysia. Malaysian phone number. It was my Father. The call I had been dreading and expecting for the past week or so had come. My Grandmother (Nana) had passed away.

I had gotten the first text on Sunday night. “Nana is sick”, my father had said. “I am flying back to KL as soon as possible, as is your Uncle and Aunt (one of my aunts lives in KL). Do you want to come back and see her?” I can’t, I told him. After all, I had gotten laid off only two weeks ago. With my Visa status stable only because I was on administrative leave, and with a tiny but promising amount of job leads which required interviews, how could I afford to leave? I expressed my guilt to my father — I wanted to go back to see her, I really did, but now was not the time for me to leave the US. “Everything might still be ok,” he replied. “I will go back and keep you updated.”

Tuesday night I got a text from my Mother. She and my Father are divorced but she still keeps in touch with my Uncle. She forwarded me a text from my Uncle “Not sure how long she will last” it said. He was not able to get to KL til Monday. My Aunt was arriving Friday (my father was arriving Thursday). I called my Uncle (in Scotland). My Grandmother was terminally ill — she had contracted pneumonia, and was not strong enough to recover. She was unconscious most of the time, and the Doctors couldn’t even give a time period — she could pass any day now. He wasn’t sure if he could make it back in time, and even if he was in time, he could only stay for a week. If she passed or the funeral was after that week, he couldn’t be there — he couldn’t take any more time off. I told him my situation. “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “Nana wouldn’t have wanted you to come back — she has had a long and full life, and your career and future is more important at this point.” I couldn’t even speak to her. She hasn’t been able to talk on the phone for awhile. “Call your cousin,” he suggested. “I just spoke to her and asked her to hug Nana and tell her I love her, and I will be back as soon as I can. That is all we can do at this point, except to keep her in our prayers.”

I called my cousin straight after and told her what was happening. “Don’t worry about it,” she said. “Nana is unconscious and doesn’t really know who is around anyway.” What about the funeral? “You need to take care of yourself first. I will hug Nana for you and tell her you love her, and tell her you wanted to come see her but you couldn’t. In the meantime, keep her in your prayers — that’s all you can do.” She or my Uncle must have spoken to my Father afterwards, because I got a text from him an hour later saying not to worry about coming back, as we had discussed.

With absolution from my Father, Uncle and Cousin, I went about my daily life (or what was left of it since I got laid off) without worrying about going back to Malaysia.

Nana has been my only living grandparent since I was born. All my other grandparents had passed long before I came into the world. As a result, I’ve always been very close to Nana. My Mother, Father and Uncle think that I was one of her favourites (she has many grandchildren).

A headmistress in an English medium school in Malaysia, and an English teacher before that, Nana spoke nothing but perfect Queen’s English. Before I moved to Australia we would visit her often. After we moved to Australia she would come stay with us for 6 months or more every two years. She would help me with my English homework and give me extra English work on top of that. In fact, she is largely responsible for why my accent doesn’t really sound like other Australians — I have Australian influence to be sure, but my formative years were instructed by Nana and her Queen’s English. And of course my parents, who spoke Malaysian English. We would watch TV and play chess and read books. As an only child, she was, in my younger days, my best friend.

Even in her 70s and 80s she was sharp as a tack — she was doing yoga, studying three or four languages, learning poetry, learning Chinese calligraphy. Her body may have been frail, but her mind and hearing were as clear as ever. An extraordinary lady by any standards.

As I grew older we started to drift apart a little — though we were still close. It was getting harder and harder to relate to her, and, of course, I had more things on my mind. She started to get frailer and frailer, until she couldn’t travel alone anymore. At this point, she stopped coming to Australia. I still went back to Malaysia every couple of years and visited her then, but of course it was not the same.

Every time I saw her she looked smaller and smaller — or maybe it was because I was getting bigger? Then, after all those years, her mind started to go. That stalwart institution, the thing which had long defined my grandmother in my — and other people’s — mind. It was harder for her to talk on the phone, she was having trouble remember names and who people were. The two people she did remember a lot were my Uncle and me. And then it happened. My Uncle went back to see her and she couldn’t recognise him. It’s ok we said, she’s getting old, we said. But it was never the same after that.

I went back and saw her right before I came to Seattle. We had a huge reunion for her 90th birthday. The last time I saw her she was fine. She had trouble remembering words but she could still remember people. Letters were easier for her to read and communicate through than the phone. I went and saw her with my Mother (my Father wasn’t there yet), and gave her a picture of me and my parents from my graduation. She could recognise the people in the picture, and was very happy to have it. It took her over an hour and a half to realise that the people in the picture were the same as the people sitting in front of her. She couldn’t really recognise me til she did that, no matter what we said. She realised she knew me, but she couldn’t remember who I was. That was one of the hardest meetings I’ve ever had with my Nana.

We had a huge reunion for her birthday. She is the eldest child of 12 brothers and sisters. Amazing when you think about it. Her eldest daughter is a couple of years older than her youngest sister. She looked happy. In fact the photos here are taken from that trip — the one with her children from the 90th birthday dinner, the one with me from when I gave her the graduation picture. My Uncle, who had been visiting her every year since she was unable to travel, said it was the happiest she’s been in a long time.

And so, I went along my way and I moved to Seattle. My Mother would call me and every now and then ask me to call my Grandmother. I staunchly refused. I didn’t want to talk to her or see her as she was — I wanted to keep my memories of her as the Nana I knew in my youth. My Mother understood that, but would encourage me to talk to her all the same. Then I heard things had gotten to the point where she couldn’t even talk on the phone any more. That became a part of my excuse. “She’ll still be able to hear your voice and she’ll be happy to hear from you,” my Mother said. Sure, but I wouldn’t be after talking to her. Selfish of me? Yes. But can you blame me?

When she got sick my Mother told me to call her. Even if she can’t talk back, she can hear your voice. If you don’t do it you’ll regret it, she said. But by then it was too late. Nana was floating in and out of unconsciousness. I couldn’t talk to her on the phone if I tried. All that was left was to ask my cousin to hug her for me.

And now she is gone. And I can’t even go back for the funeral. Do I regret not speaking to her in her final years? A little — what grandchild or child would not regret not spending more time with their grandparent/parent after they pass. But she has led a full and happy life (she would have been 92 this year), and she is surrounded by people who love her. I am not there in person, but I am there in spirit. Still, the guilt nags at me that I am not going back for her funeral. I have been absolved of this by my Father, Uncle and cousin, but the guilt is there all the same. She was the only grandparent I have ever known, and I did not speak to her for the last year and a half of her life. And now I can’t go back for her funeral. Selfish of me? Yes. Would she have wanted me to come back? I would like to think, considering the circumstances, no. That might be the selfishness speaking, but Nana would forgive me. She was always a very forgiving person — it was one of her many shining qualities.

Rest in peace, Nana. And please forgive me.

Pie Jesu
Qui tollis peccata mundi
Dona eis requiem
Agnus Dei
Dona eis requiem sempiternam

Originally posted on 13th February 2009, at jedi-x.livejournal.com