Q

Dear Sir.

Loss, i have learnt, finds us in new ways unique to the one we mourn for.

This morning, groggily, i flipped on the tv just in time to hear PM Lee collect his quavering tone. Cut to you, black and white, wreathed with orchids, a rousing speech; you stoically wiping tears away in the scene we’ve played and replayed through social studies class. The LKY i knew from textbooks.

Then came the later years, the you i knew throughout my childhood: sharp eyed and articulate. Of these, the most recent images of you in NDP 2014 was especially touching. In them, you had neither the solemn face of a man on a mission, nor the polished, polite smile of a politician. Instead, you held a carefree expression; a smile wide with abandon. You regarded the celebrations and your fellow countrymen with a simple content you so rarely wore.

It was then that it hit. Perhaps because you looked as any benign, friendly coffeeshop uncle would, perhaps it reminded me of how beyond a hard-nosed luminary, you were a loved husband, father and grandfather. It hit that there would no longer be wise, sometimes entertaining, always brilliant words newly said by this man.

Sir, all I hope for is that you felt the nation’s gratefulness, that we did (and will do) you proud, that you went knowing your work was fully worthwhile.