Last touch

Last Wednesday my Chinese Orchestra instructor of about nine years, Mr Yeo passed on. He was age 53 and it has probably been four years since we have last met. And I could not have been luckier to have managed to visit him before he left us last Wednesday.

Three sundays ago we were just talking about his condition during a high-tea session and we subsequently visited him the following Friday. It has been far too long that we knew about his condition, he has been fighting cancer for about half a year. Finally thought we'd better pay him a visit, hopefully it cheers him up that the little kids that he once taught still cares.

It was a rather awkward vsit, after having been out of touch for such a long while and the rather unfortunate circumstance that we had to meet in a hospital. So we have heard that he has lost lots of weight, but it did not shock me as he has always been a small man and really he could not have shrunk much further.

He spoke with some efforts and while he was unwell, he was able to prop himself up a little as his wife fed him porridge. It was almost instinctive that he reached out his hand when we arrived by his bedside. What he probably needs most now is the human touch. We had not brought any gift and stood a little awkwardly as he spoke. I asked if he was feeling pain and he said that yes he is suffeirng from much discomfort.

As we thought that we should not tire him out talking to us, we got in the rest of our friends to enter the ward (we were told to enter in pairs). Before we stepped out he thanked us cordially. Two of our friends were in tears when they exit the ward and before we left, my friend and I decided to bid him farewell before leaving.

That was the last time we met. Again he thanked us. He said he will be discharged tomorrow and we said to take care and we'll visit him again soon. He said he will get well really soon. We later realised that those were the exact same words he had said to our three other friends.

As we saw him in the coffin on Wednesday, I thought of how small he was in the coffin, almost like a child, being in a place prematurely where he does not belong. I did not cry, until the SCO started playing a piece that he wrote on Saturday. Then it brought back memories of how we have spent nine years under his care and tutelege.

I remember little bits of memories....when he sent me to People's Association after practice at St Nicholas Girls School, it was a strange thing to remember, but I could always remember him driving 60km/hr on the expressway and he bought me laksa at Kallang before our practice...that he brought a hello kitty blanket to Japan when our orchestra travelled to Japan and his affectionate term for us kids "xiao hai". It is still easy to remember how he used to address us, even when we were no longer kids.