Last year, my October Singapore trip coincided with the recent demise of Mrs. Lee Kuan Yew. From the numerous newspaper articles written about her, a picture emerged of a remarkable person. She was a caring, intelligent, kind-hearted woman who was the center of her family's life.
For her eulogy, Minister Mentor Lee Kuan Yew said: “I have precious memories of our 63 years together. Without her, I would be a different man, with a completely different life. She devoted herself to me and our children. She was always there when I needed her.
After her second stroke in 2008, her mind remained clear but her voice became weaker. When I kissed her on her cheek, she told me not to come too close to her in case I caught her pneumonia. I assured her that the doctors did not think that was likely because I was active. When given some peaches in hospital, she asked the maid to take one home for my lunch. I was at the center of her life.
The last two years of her life were the most difficult. She was bedridden, could not speak but she was still cognisant. Every night she would wait for me to sit by her to tell her of my day’s activities and to read her favourite poems. Then she would sleep.
She has lived a life full of warmth and meaning. I should find solace at her 89 years of her life well-lived. But at this moment of the final parting, my heart is heavy with sorrow and grief.”
What Mr. Lee, a traditional Chinese gentleman in his restraint and composure had declined to reveal, his children and grandchildren chose to say for him, describing how he learnt to care for his wife after she became frail.
Lee Hsien Yang said, looking teary-eyed: “Papa helped, cajoled and encouraged her in her rehabilitation. He continued to care for her with an infinite amount of patience, love, kindness and good humour. He adjusted his routine to accommodate her changing circumstances and physical condition. His abiding love, devotion and care must have been a great comfort to her, and an insipiration to Fern and me on how marriage is a life-long partnership, through good health and illness. When we married in 1991, Papa wrote Fern and me a letter with advice on marriage. On his relationship with Mama, he said:
We have never allowed the other to feel abandoned and alone in any moment of crises. Quite the contrary, we have faced all major crisis in our lives together, sharing our fears and hopes, and our subsequent grief or exultation. These moments of crises have bonded us closer together. With the years, the number of special ties which we two share have increased. Some of them we share with the children.”
Mr. Lee Hsien Loong spoke not as Prime Minister but as the grieving elder son, clad in mourning garb of plain white T-shirt and black trousers, addressing the Minister Mentor as Papa for the first time in public.
Mama has always been part of our lives. Papa was busy with political work, so she did most of the bringing up of the children – me, Ling and Yang.
We stayed in close touch during my years abroad in Britain and later in the US. Once a week I would sit down to write a long letter home, and Mama and Papa would each write me a long letter too. In those days, Cambridge was very far away from home. E-mail and Skype did not yet exist. International phone calls were expensive. The weekly letter was eagerly awaited for news of home, and for news of the son fending for himself in a faraway hand. I would read and re-read the letters from home, then file them away carefully.
We stayed in close touch during my years abroad in Britain and later in the US. Once a week I would sit down to write a long letter home, and Mama and Papa would each write me a long letter too. In those days, Cambridge was very far away from home. E-mail and Skype did not yet exist. International phone calls were expensive. The weekly letter was eagerly awaited for news of home, and for news of the son fending for himself in a faraway hand. I would read and re-read the letters from home, then file them away carefully.
In the end, there was just a man who loved his wife till the end. He walked to her casket and placed a single stalk of red rose, green leaves still on its stem, on her body.
Then he bent towards her and reached for her face with his right hand. He brought his hand back to his lips and planted a kiss on her forehead.
As though he could not bear to part, he did that again. And then he walked away, composed and unaided.
Minister Mentor Lee Kuan Yew gave his wife two final kisses as she lay peaceful in her casket at the Mandai Crematorium. Madam Kwa Geok Choo - his beloved Choo - had died on Saturday 2 Oct 2010, aged 89, after being bedridden for over two years as a result of a series of strokes.
His kiss was a private gesture of love, but will linger in the memories of those who witnessed it, as a public affirmation of the abiding love they shared.
References
http://www.straitstimes.com/BreakingNews/Singapore/Story/STIStory_587352.html
http://www.straitstimes.com/BreakingNews/Singapore/Story/STIStory_587653.html
http://www.channelnewsasia.com/stories/singaporelocalnews/view/1085515/1/.html
http://www.straitstimes.com/BreakingNews/Singapore/Story/STIStory_587591.html
The Straits Times, Thursday 7 October 2010
