I Swear You Will Be Fine

Dear Josh,

The title may be misleading. I wish it was a reunion with you. But this was a reunion with my primary school mates.

It was my primary school’s 75th anniversary. On a whim, I agreed to go when asked by a very close friend a few months ago. As the date approached, I thought I might bail out and think of the cost of the ticket as a donation to the school. Days away from the event, I started thinking of excuses. An emergency at work. I have Covid. But as you know, lying like this takes an even greater toll on me. I changed my mind when this close friend texted me 2 days prior and said she would meet me in the lobby and we would enter together. Perhaps she knew my concerns.

The night before, I was texting another friend overseas (also an alumni of this school) about this event and how I was stressed about going. She knew to ask just one question. “Is it because of Josh”. She then said to be prepared with some answers and that sometimes we would be surprised to hear that others have suffered too. And more touchingly, she said she wished she was with me and that she would have held me close. Awww.

I didn’t quite prepare with any answers. As I’ve come to realise, my answers depend very much on who I’m talking to and more importantly, how my mood is.

The event went relatively smoothly. It was nice to see some old faces. The group “regressed” to the 12 year olds that we were, with many of us not having seen each other for almost 40 years.

About 20 minutes before we were about to leave, I realised we were near the end. And that I had managed to get through it without any difficult questions. Boy was I wrong.

Within a few minutes, I heard my schoolmate on my right asking everyone on the table. I heard the words, “two”, “three” etc and I realised she was asking everyone how many kids they had. “Here we go”, I thought. My brain started to work at a million miles a minute with my options.

First option, I was on her left. So I would be the last to answer amongst the 10 of us as the answering commenced anti-clockwise. Technically, it gave me enough time to get up and excuse myself to the washroom.

Second option, I could just say “2” and leave it at that. But there were 3 friends on the table who knew about you. In fact, 2 of them had even attended your wake.

Before I knew it, it was my turn. I took a quick breath and said, “I have 2. But my younger one passed away”. I could feel the heaviness set in throughout the table. I tried to keep it light, continuing about Jess being in London. For the next 2 minutes, I felt an added pressure to “look okay”. But I am very thankful for 2 things.

Firstly, none of them asked what happened to you. I thought that was very mature, and frankly, not very Singaporean.

Secondly, one of them, as we were walking out, came over to me and said, “I’m very sorry about Josh”. I was worried I would tear up. Weirdly I am tearing now just writing about it. So how I didn’t tear then is beyond me. I thanked her and she said, “he is with God now”. I could tell how heartfelt it was.

I must accept that as I left, I wondered why I was the only one of the 10 in the table who had suffered such a loss.

No one will believe this. But literally as I was finishing writing this post, the friend who had started the questioning of how many children we all have sent a text in our chat group. In it she talks about how she has a severely disabled child, and how so many of us have had our share of difficult times since the happy days of primary school. She also thanked me for sharing about you.

So at the end of the day, I got through it. On top of you being with me, I have the added realisation that I am not alone in suffering. Life is just such. I’m sure you were with me. And I realise I can’t keep avoiding these situations. You wouldn’t want me to.

Love Mum