Eulogy
Thank you, everyone, for taking the time to be here to share this difficult time with us.
Amma was Rajes or Aunty Rajes to her family and relatives; Matilda to her
former Stage West colleagues; and, Mary to her YMCA pals, doctors, nurses,
and carers. And, Akka or Rajes akka to her youngest sibling and cousins.
Many have called or written from near and far since her passing on Oct 18th.
Some have shared their dearest memories of her on various message
boards. There was always a common thread in every message or phone call
– her tasty food and her quiet kindness that endured for many years after
their first meeting.
My parents lived in Wattala, a suburb north of Colombo after they were
married in 1969, for a short time before moving to 25 Norris Canal Rd in
Colombo. This is where a lot of our most enduring memories were created.
The door was always open in this house – only closed at night. It is where
my parents became guardians to some of my mom’s siblings after they lost
their mother, my grandmother, suddenly in 1972. The guardianship may
have only lasted a few years but they never forgot it. Gratitude for which is
being repaid until this very day. My mother loved her siblings
unconditionally and they her.
As our uncles and aunts began to migrate overseas in the 70s, they were
replaced by cousins, relatives, boarders, and friends who transited through
to the next stages of their young lives. My dad would help them obtain a
passport and plane ticket to seek greener pastures. My mom would go to
the Maradana market to buy fresh vegetables, seafood, and meat and cook
tasty food. My dad would ask anyone who walked in the house to stay
for a meal – a quintessential Sri Lankan trait. My parents expressed their
love and kindness through food and hospitality. The contentment that was
brought by the company of many is still etched in our memories. Maybe this
is why Mom loved being around people so much; or, perhaps, she attracted
many to be around her.
We moved to Jaffna in August of 1983, following the July ethnic riots, with
very little of our belongings, but our lives still intact. Thanks to Our Lady of
Fatima Church across the street and our Uncle Thurai, we didn’t have to set
foot in an IDP camp as many did.
We moved to our family home on 4th Cross St after living for a short time with
Uncle and Aunty Manuelpillai – my mom’s uncle. Post-July 1983 was a very
tumultuous time in Sri Lanka. Mom took care of me and my siblings while
my dad continued to live in Colombo – he’d come home every few months.
The time between 84 and 89, the year we migrated to Canada, was marred
by civil war, curfews, blackouts, fuel embargo, taking cover under the bed
while mortar shells flew over our heads, and my dad’s passing in August of
1987.
This was her first significant loss since her mother’s passing 15 years earlier,
that was until tragedy struck 5 years later in our new home – Canada. A
month after the tragic loss of her 17-year-old daughter – Shermy to us and
Caroline to others – she hid her pain in her heart, wore her
kindness on her sleeve, and went back to work. She knew we had to live on
though our hearts were broken to bits.
Travelling brought her great joy along with her grandchildren, Ethan and
Reya, who arrived in 2004 and 2007, respectively – so did her grandchildren
by proxy, Sebastian and Eliza. She travelled to every wedding, milestone
birthday, to see an unwell sibling, or any excuse to travel. But, she always
made sure she wasn’t away too long to be home to look after her
grandchildren. She loved them very much; loved them unconditionally; and,
spoilt them as grandparents do. I hope she continues to guide and protect
them from up above.
She discovered her last love, or passion as some may call it, circa 2009. That
is Aqua Fitness at the YMCA. The Y brought relief to her arthritic knees –
aqua fitness rather. The closed friendships developed there over the next
decade brought joy to her heart, so much so that she would order TransHelp
to be there up to 6 days per week. It brought her a new zest for life. She lost
weight and was in the best shape of her life in her 70s.
It is on the way to meet her last love when she fell and broke her femur.
The day was February 11th, 2019. They say your life can change in a blink of
an eye. Losing her mobility and with it, her quality of life broke her heart
one last time. It never recovered. We tried but she slowly gave up. She told
her Carer, Esther, a few days prior to being admitted to the ICU, that she was
tired and wanted to be with her daughter, Caroline. She will get her wish in
an hour’s time when she is laid to rest next to her for eternity.
Amma didn’t do great big things; she did small things every day to
love, care and protect everyone who was to her. To quote from
my Aunty Theresa’s posthumous letter to her dear sister, Rajes had a heart of
gold, always kind, always loving, and a mother to all of us. Her caring and her
kindness will always be remembered for the rest of our lives.
Before I end, I’d like to share a short story that captures the essence of who
she was. We went on a family trip to Sri Lanka in 2013 to celebrate my
grandfather’s (her father's) 50th anniversary of his passing. We hired a driver and an 8-
seater van to pick us up from the airport to take us around the country. The
second stop was Jaffna where a mass was said in his honor. My mom
perched herself on the front seat beside the driver the entire two weeks we
traversed the island. Her sister, Nimsy, would constantly tease her for
hogging the front seat like a queen. My mom would always respond in her
trademark fashion, umaku enna say ithu naan munuku iruntha, chumma vaaya moodi kondu irum. We would laugh and move on. That’s not the story. The story is about the kinship she
developed with the driver who spoke only English and Sinhala – my mother,
English and Tamil. We would leave her with him and go on our own when
the terrain was a little challenging for her – or when she didn’t feel like
coming with us. This is when she connected with him. She bought his small
children chocolates and gave him money to buy them clothes. He was her
protector for two weeks. To this day, this driver messages me on WhatsApp.
His message will always begin with a Good morning, Sir and How is your mother,
Sir. How is your mother, Sir? I can never forget her – she was so kind to me.
He cried when I told him she passed away. This is in essence who she was.
Amma, the sound of your two-wheel walker dragging on the hardwood floor
has gone silent. So, has your sarcastic humour directed towards your
daughter, Manju, your son-in-law Vijay, your sister Nimsy, and brother-in-law
Chandran. The silence is deafening. Life won’t be the same without you.
Rest in Peace, Amma, for your pain has ended. We’ll always love you
and miss you. Please continue to look after us from up above.
It still hurts that she is no more in our lives. But trading the thoughts and words written about and of her helps ease the pain.