We came together when Aloysius Pang passed away. We now come together when the son of a billionaire, Ben Goi, passed away.
He was cremated yesterday and it has been on the news since his most unexpected passing last Sunday. We read about it and share the pain of the family’s loss.
Big names have turned up for his wake. Ministers attended including our future PM Heng Swee Keat, and local celebrities also attended.
Ben was only 43 when he died of a stroke in KL while visiting his in-law with his wife, son, and maid. He passed on at 4 am, Sunday morning.
He was the chief operating officer of Tee Yih Jia, “a food manufacturing business which his father expanded from a manufacturer of popiah skin into a global Asian food company.”
His friends remembered him as a good man. Alas, memories come alive when its subject is gone.
One friend of 25 years, Christopher, said that Ben made it a point to remember birthdays of all his friends. He “sent them greetings by text messenging even when he was travelling.”
Ben, said Christopher, was “a man without airs despite being the son of Singapore billionaire.” (FYI, his Father Sam Goi is No. 14 on Forbes’ Singapore’s 50 Richest List last year, with an estimated fortune of US$1.8 billion).
Christopher added: “We are from different backgrounds but he doesn’t care where you’re from. If he calls you a friend, you’re his equal.”
“He was someone who showed his love through his actions. Whatever kindness you showed him, he would repay you 10 times.”
His friends call Ben “dai lo”, which is Cantonese for big brother.
Lesson? Three actually, at the end. Here goes...
I guess many people die every week. Most of them will not be remembered as fondly or as widely as some of us. In fact, my close friend’s father recently passed on and he is less well known than others in society.
Yet, you can’t compare his dad or our loved ones with another for two reasons.
First, their status, popularity and the impact they have on others are different. That’s stating the obvious.
Second, and this is what counts the most, it doesn’t matter because death is not only unavoidable, it also equalises (or democratises) all of us. In other words, we can’t do anything about it except to wait (with purpose) for our time to come.
So, no grave or tombstone, however grand or fair, decorated or bare, can prevent the body from returning to where it came from.
Indeed, from dust we return to dust, and from ashes we yield to ashes.
For that reason, the rich and the poor, the known or less known, will leave this world the very same way they first came, that is, empty handed and naked but remembered.
Alas, nothing in those lines that I have written is about what we have acquired in this world, or what we own or possess.
Of course, this is not a call to drop everything in our name, but it is a call to, at times, think again.
In our many pursuits, in the countless cost-benefit analysis we engage in, we ought to pause and reflect on what I call “perspective override”, that is, to reflect about the connection between life and death - the life we are given and the death we are called to give an account.
Let me illustrate this (my three lessons) by borrowing the choice words offered by Ben’s loved ones as I end.
First, this connection between life and death ought to compel us to live well.
Sam Goi (Ben’s father) said: “I hope my youngest son have a happy life in heaven as he did in life. I must thank everyone for coming to my place and sending him off. I’m glad so many people will think of him. He must feel very happy on his way to heaven.”
Whether our journey is in heaven or on earth, this connection reminds us to take nothing for granted and treasure the relationships we make along the way.
We can’t possibly invest in everyone’s life the same way, but the numerical limit has already been set for us as a husband (faithful to one), as a father (committed to your kids), as a friend (loyal to a handful), and as a citizen (be kind and generous to people who come into our life).
My second point is in the words of Ben’s wife, Tracy, which illustrates the point that this connection ought to compel us to love well.
“Goodbye, hubby, goodbye. I will take care of your parents. Let’s meet again in heaven.”
I believe this is where faith comes in. I believe there is a compelling reason why the evidence that science demands before anything can be deemed true falls short when one confronts the loss of a loved one.
Science can chase or break down every molecule of our memory of our loved one, but it can never paint a whole picture of the love we have for him or her. Only faith can bridge the gap here, that is, the intangible for the intangible, whole memory for the dearly remembered.
Lastly, this empowering connection ought to compel us to move forward in life.
Here is Ben’s sister’s words for Tracy.
“Mei Leng, you are part of the family. We will take care of you even when Ben is not around. Papa and Mama, he will want us to be happy. Let this go, and have strength going forward.”
In death, the departed may leave behind loved ones. But in life, the loved ones live on for the departed.
They want us to be happy, to be strong and to complete our own race before our hearts are joined forever when our time comes.
Having strength to go forward is how life and death close the gap. It is how we are able to live our life embracing death, and not running from it.
Because once this connection is made, once we are conscious of living well, loving well, and moving forward, we take the sting out of death and put life, overcoming life, into it. RIP. Amen.
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