I don’t like goodbyes.

Like I had written previously, I want to and like to be part of the welcome wagon. The wagon that invites and is full of smiles, bear hugs and happy times to look forward to.

This time around, when sisters number 1 from England, and sisters number 2 and 4 arrived from Australia, the welcome was less joyous. There were still long embraces, but they were accompanied by tears of sadness for sister number 3.

My three sisters didn’t come home for a holiday. They came to be together with brother number 2 and me, the remaining five siblings. To talk things over, understand and accept, if possible, the unbelievable should-not-have-happened situation we were/are in.

They were also home to lay sister number 3 to rest, even as I write the words, I get tearful. How can this happen? The Saturday earlier, we laid our sister to rest with the family – our mum, dad and brother number 1 – at Nirvana, Shah Alam. Two months after she had passed.

We thought having her home in Malaysia was what she would have wanted. Particularly as she forever said she would like to and could easily spend half her time here, and the balance in England.

Sister number 3 was comfortable and carefree in KL. She loved being with the family, knew her way around, spoke Bahasa, enjoyed the local foods like noodles, Nyonya kuihs/cakes and durian, and avidly watched Tamil movies including the ‘kuppa’ or rubbish ones.

This is true. She actually demonstrated to people, mainly curious women, travelling on the LRT and MRT lines, how to knit as she always carried her knitting kit with her. Her fingers were on autopilot when she knitted.

And, she was equally at home in England with brother-in-law number 3, sister number 1 and family, a large network of friends, and her hobbies that included swimming, gardening and cooking/baking. And, more recently, she juggled sewing classes and hospital appointments/visits. An inherently kind soul, she was a people magnet.

We also hoped praying for her, and knowing that she now has her own resting place with the family, would help us find some comfort and closure. And, to some extent, it has. Maybe.

For me, it’s a maybe because I’ve just about got my head around visiting my mum at her final resting place. In July, when I visit her again, sister number 3, my Sinnavan will also be there. Why? How? She shouldn’t be. She should be alive and well. It’s just so wrong.

And, it’s not like I don’t know that she is no more. It’s just terribly difficult to accept, and move on … with our lives. Which might have been the other reason or goal for getting together.

Accepting is hard but what choice is there? Not accepting is not going to change anything as she’s not coming back. Moving on is very hard. Again, what choice is there? But, how?

Sister number 2, the more accepting amongst the siblings about sister number 3’s passing, said that we must try to focus on the living because we cannot do anything for or about sister number 3. She isn’t wrong. I understand what she’s saying.

Yes, I’m thinking of the living but I’m also thinking and missing my Sinnavan. I’m alright when I’m doing things, and keeping busy. Even then, things, places, phrases remind me of her. What to do.

Also, during the visit, the five of us exchanged personal items with each other. These keepsakes are to be placed on us, when we die, at our burial or cremation. I know it sounds morbid. It is, to me. I’ve difficulty handling this subject matter. Death is too final, and too sad.

And yet, we lot were talking about it while we are still alive and generally well. Why? Because sister number 3’s sudden passing and preferred arrangements, thereafter, had limited and only allowed sister number 1 and niece number 1 to place store-bought scarves, representing each of the siblings, on her at her final rites.

Also, at our mum’s funeral, another sad day, the saree that was draped over her was that of her only living, youngest sister. I didn’t know and I hadn’t taken much notice earlier but apparently in Tamil culture, the practice/gesture symbolises a lasting token of unbroken familial love and the lifelong bond between siblings.

Hence why, I think, it was suggested and decided that we’d have our siblings’ personal mementos laid on us, for our final journey. While I don’t know what will happen after I die, the gesture seems rather touching. No pun intended.

Back to not liking goodbyes. I had three goodbyes to deal with in one evening. It was exponentially harder and emotional. I miss my sisters, the sibling togetherness, and my Sinnavan.