He lived to a ripe old age. He left behind my mum, 84, and four adult children. I am the youngest of the four. All of us are married and have given our parents 10 grandchildren among us.
That Saturday morning, when we received the call from my mum, we rushed down to their house. I saw my dad lying on the sofa of the living room. He was covered with a white sheet.
Mum told us that dad had been struggling in the toilet. When she went to help him, he fell into her arms. He took his final breath in that position. That was his last goodbye to her.
Mum told us that his death was not unexpected. She said that when it is time to go, it is time to go.
Dad came to Singapore before the war to live with his cousins. He once told us that he was at their beck and call and made to serve them. He lived his life with fortitude and quiet acceptance.
But we know dad as someone who kept to himself. He went about his days quietly doing the chores, even if he had to bear twice the load. Maybe that is a Hainanese trait. We keep our nose clean and mind our own business.
Dad found the love of his life in my mum. I have seen photographs of her when she was young and she was a beauty.
I was told that dad also took care of my mum’s siblings when they needed a roof over their heads. He contributed to their school fees and put food on the table.
When I was growing up, my dad was the sole breadwinner. He was a silent provider, a man of few words. That was his love language. He believed that actions spoke louder than words.
One vivid memory of my dad was when I came back from London after my Bar exam. When he saw me, he smiled. We attempted to embrace. It was a rare moment of father-and-son bonding in public. It was also the most awkward 3.7 seconds of my life.
As my dad hugged me, he uttered: “I’m proud of you.” And those words came back to me when I saw him lying motionless on the sofa that day.
Two days before he died, he was rather apologetic when I visited him. He said: “Don’t need to come, I am okay. Spend with family. If busy, don’t need to come.”
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These were the words of a stoic father, who never wanted to trouble others, even his own flesh and blood. Towards the end, reduced to skin and bones, he still insisted on being the strong support for us.
I recall my wedding day 24 years ago when I paid tribute to him. I struggled with the words, but meant them with all my heart when I said: “Thanks dad, for being there for us, for mum. You ran the good race. Soon, it will be my turn. I hope you kept notes.”
Dad’s love was in his faithfulness to his marriage. His love was in providing for the family. His love spoke volumes in the way he tried his best to be a father to us.
After my speech, we hugged that night. This time, it lasted more than 3.7 seconds. And it was less awkward. I guess practice makes perfect.
My dad lived his life the best he knew how.
He persevered through the good and bad times. When times were bad, he held his tongue and soldiered on.
A hero is not necessarily one who basks in glorious deeds before a cheering crowd. He can be one who quietly labours away, staying faithful to the call of family and fatherhood.
Thanks, dad, for being that hero to us. And happy first anniversary.
Michael Han is a father of three and managing partner of a legal firm.
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