Flowers in my Room

Every time I look at the dried flowers in my room, I remember my uncle, who died of Stage Four liver cancer 5 years ago. He stayed with my family till two weeks before his death. His own family had turned him out.

My uncle was an amiable fellow, well-liked because of his pleasant personality. He was also a great conversationalist and a real ladies' man. Perhaps that was why his family wanted nothing to do with him, even until his death. To this day, his wife says she is still unable to forgive his philandering ways.

Two weeks before his death, uncle was a real wreck. He could not eat nor sleep, kept throwing up and even walked with a limp. He suffered in pain. My mom and I would take him to the market with us, or wherever he wished to go. We would try to cheer him up by taking him to places he wanted and buying small treats for him (he hadn't much appetite).

One of those places was a tea shop in a back alley of the busy part of town. I took my uncle there one hot, blistering afternoon. The shop was located 3 floors up, and we had to climb. He was panting at the first few steps, but insisited on continuing. Half a flight later, he took off his cap to reveal a bald scalp, and continued his ascent.

My heart slowly sank.

After what seemed like a long time, we both reached the shop. Took off our shoes and uncle fell on the chair panting. We ordered tea and some dumplings. He started to say how much he missed and appreciated the long, lazy afternoons sipping tea with company. He talked about his death.

I listened.

He told me how ready he was to face it. He had aceepted Jesus in his life just a couple weeks back, while he was staying with my family. Though oscillating between hope and fear, he held on to the little shred of hope that in a short while he will meet his Maker.

In what was to be my last long conversation with him, my uncle told me about my roots: how his late father (my paternal grandfather) was a murderer who, while on the run from the authorities, found himself in Malaysia and started a family.

He told me how he wished that his family would one day end the decades-long feud over property and pride. He wished that the feud would end with his generation.

From a dying man's point of view, nothing was more important than having the right relationship with the people who mattered. For a person whose claim in this life was slipping, he looked up and saw what he could have done differently should he had more ... time.

The flowers in my room remind me of my uncle, yes, because they were his last gift to me. But to a greater extent, they tell me to to take time... make time ...to love unreservedly, unpretentiously and hold nothing back.