Flood

In that instant, so many things rushed through my mind.

I really want to, but are you that person to?

That, is my great uncle

He has eight children and 13 grandchildren, together with their partners, and his wife of 60 years, all by his bedside on the morning of 11 May 2014. 30 people, including the domestic help, crowded into the upgraded three-room flat, all holding him the center of their world those two days.

He has awesome grandchildren, awesome children, an amazing wife, a beautiful family. They gave him a leg rub when he groaned, the children crowded around to tell him it was Chinese New Year and he must be happy, they told each other to do stuff for him, and they did. No complaints, no whining, no fear, no resistance.

The adults talk to anyone and everyone. They talk to the children, they talk to their mother, they talk to friends. They laugh at each other, with each other and for each other.

The children jump on top of each other and play. The boy with the smirk and swagger and bleached blonde hair eagerly brings out a set of chess to play with ah boy. They all joke and jab at each other. Then scramble over to pick up their things and head over to the coffin to wave goodbye before following their parents home.

Familiar, comfortable and naturally so. This is family.

He has a beautiful family.

That is my granduncle.