Every Sunday, following the solemn rituals of church service, Mima, a young woman enveloped in quiet sorrow, made her way to the grave of her only child.
Her son, who had left this world far too soon at the tender age of three, lay beneath a weathered headstone, a poignant reminder of fleeting innocence and love lost.
With each visit, she would tenderly place a fresh flower upon the grave, its vibrant colours starkly contrasting with the dull earth, symbolising her enduring love and heartache.
After laying the flower, Mima would pause for a moment of reflection, whispering a short prayer that seemed to echo her deepest longing for solace.
Occasionally, her grief drove her to visit almost daily — a remarkable departure from the traditional mourning practices of the village.
This unprecedented devotion to her child’s memory stirred concern among her family and friends. They exchanged worried glances and hushed whispers, their discomfort palpable. To them, Mima’s profound sorrow felt unsettling, almost unnatural.
Although the loss of a child is universally recognised as a tragedy far greater than the demise of an elderly person, the sheer intensity of Mima’s grief appeared excessive, a weight that seemed too heavy for any heart to endure.
In their eyes, mourning had its bounds. They thought of it as a ritualised process to navigate through pain. Yet Mima’s relentless return to the graveyard was a stark reminder of a love that refused to fade.
Her heart clung fiercely to the memory of a life that was extinguished far too early. The village, steeped in its traditions and expectations, struggled to understand her unwavering devotion.
It left Mima to navigate her sorrow in solitude, a solitary figure against the backdrop of a community that found comfort in the confines of conventional mourning.
The loss of their beloved son created a profound chasm between Mima and her husband, Pa-el. Although Pa-el was engulfed in his grief, he felt a compelling need to move forward after a period of mourning, believing that time would heal their wounds.
Mima, however, found herself spiralling into a private anguish that became impenetrable, leaving Pa-el feeling increasingly shut out from her inner world.
This emotional distance grew over time, leading to a gradual estrangement that neither had anticipated.
They never officially divorced, yet the weight of their separation was palpable, as Mima continued her ritualistic visits to their son’s grave, her heart heavy with loss.
As the days turned into months, their shared home fell into disuse, a silent indication of their fractured relationship.
Pa-el decided to leave the village in search of employment, seeking a means of supporting himself and escaping from the memories that haunted every corner of their home.
Meanwhile, Mima grappled with her solitude. The house, once filled with laughter and dreams, had become a suffocating reminder of what they had lost.
Unable to bear living alone, she returned to her parents’ home, a move that brought mixed emotions.
By then, Mima’s parents were also living in solitude, their other children having moved away to forge their own lives. Although their daughter’s return filled them with sadness, they welcomed her back with open arms.
Mima’s presence provided comfort and purpose, as she helped around the house and assisted with the tasks on their paddy farm.
Amid this new chapter, Mima found herself caught between grief and the need for connection, navigating the delicate balance of familial support while grappling with the lingering shadows of her loss.
In time, Mima paid a skilled worker to craft an elaborate headstone for her son’s grave. She also concreted the grave and adorned it with multi-coloured stones she had collected from a nearby mountain stream.
Due to her comely appearance, it was inevitable that Mima drew the gaze of other men. Her features and presence cast a spell, making admirers flock to her. Beneath the surface, though, lay an emotional fortress; she remained resolutely inaccessible.
Even suitors from nearby villages, enchanted by tales of her allure, ventured forth, hoping to win her affection. They brought tokens of admiration — flowers, gifts, and heartfelt confessions — but Mima’s demeanour remained consistently detached.
Her polite yet distant responses conveyed an unspoken message, one that resonated deeply with each would-be suitor.
As time passed, it became apparent that their efforts were in vain. Though initially captivated, each man found himself gradually retreating, leaving with a mix of confusion and reluctant understanding.
They recognised that Mima, despite her beauty, was a mystery they could not penetrate, and her heart was a realm that remained forever closed to them.
Nearly a decade later, Pa-el returned to the village, a place steeped in memories and familiar faces. With a sense of purpose, he set about dismantling their old house, carefully extracting its wooden beams and thatched roof, preserving the spirit of what once stood there.
He transported these cherished materials to a new plot of land inherited from his father, situated along the main path that wound its way to the paddy farms in the wetlands to the north.
For the better part of a year, Pa-el engaged in the laborious process of rebuilding the house, often working alone under the vast sky, but not without the occasional company.
Friends and neighbours, drawn by the allure of his captivating stories and the promise of hearty meals, would lend a hand.
They remembered him as a jolly fellow, whose laughter echoed through the village, and an entertaining storyteller whose tales could breathe life into the most mundane tasks.
With each nail driven, and beam raised, Pa-el infused the new structure with nostalgia and hope, creating a home that honoured the past while looking forward to new beginnings.
I fondly recall several visits to Pa-el with my father, who held him in high regard for his remarkable character, infectious humour, and captivating stories.
Our trips to see Pa-el usually occurred on weekends or during school breaks, often en route to the lush paddy fields or during our leisurely fishing outings.
One particular visit stands out vividly in my memory: it was 1963, and I was just ten years old, in Primary 4. That day marked a significant milestone for me—it was the first time I had the chance to fish in Pa-el’s pond, nestled in his serene backyard.
The excitement was palpable as I cast my line into the shimmering water, and to my delight, I soon reeled in a sizable tilapia. The thrill of that catch was only magnified by the anticipation of enjoying it for lunch.
Pa-el prepared it with care, turning that simple fish into a delicious meal that I can still taste today, a testament to the joys of childhood and the warmth of family connections.
One Saturday morning, my parents and I decided to visit Pa-el, a dear family friend. My father had sensed that Pa-el was feeling lonely, and he wanted to lift his spirits.
For me, the visit was a perfect excuse to fish in Pa-el’s pond, even if it was just for ten to fifteen minutes. Little did we know that this visit would unfold in unexpected ways.
As we arrived, we were pleasantly surprised to find that Mima, whom I hadn’t seen in ages, and her parents arrived at the same time.
The look of astonishment on Pa-el’s face was unmistakable; his eyes lit up with joy at the sight of Mima, who he hadn’t seen in what felt like forever.
Recognising the shift in dynamics, my parents quickly greeted Mima and her family, exchanging pleasantries while subtly seeking a way to excuse themselves.
To our surprise, Mima’s parents also expressed their intention to leave, revealing they had only come to accompany her.
In an unexpected turn, Pa-el encouraged me to stay and continue fishing. I weighed his invitation carefully, but just then, I felt my mother’s grip on my shoulder tighten — her touch firmer than usual, conveying an unspoken message.
Without needing words, I understood that Pa-el and Mima likely wanted some privacy. Even though I was very young, I sensed that granting them this moment alone was the right thing to do.
The atmosphere around us was thick with expectations, anticipation, and unasked questions that hung like unspoken words.
As I prepared to leave, I heard Mima’s voice, soft yet clear. “Have you eaten since this morning?” she asked Pa-el. When he shook his head in response, she smiled and said, “I’ll cook something then.”
Without any further ado, she headed to the kitchen. As she slipped through the door, my view of her disappeared, and I turned back to Pa-el.
He met my gaze with a subtle smile, giving me a reassuring thumbs-up. At that moment, I knew I was witnessing something meaningful unfold between them, and I felt a sense of peace in knowing that I had made the right choice by stepping away.
quote photo:
Elisabeth Kubler-Rossquote:
‘The reality is that you will grieve forever. You will not ‘get over’ the loss of a loved one; you will learn to live with it. You will heal and you will rebuild yourself around the loss you have suffered.’ – Elisabeth Kubler-Ross (1926-2004). She was a Swiss-American psychiatrist and pioneer in near-death studies and the field of death and dying.
DISCLAIMER:
The views expressed here are those of the writer and do not necessarily represent the views of the Sarawak Tribune.
