This short story of Jon was to be published tomorrow in the Malay Mail column 'Obituraries'. The following was sent but came back altered. I decided not to go ahead with the revised version because the contents were altered as this would mean altering his memory.
Two years ago, 100 chairs were added for each of the three days and two nights of a young man’s wake. People from all ages, races and sizes turned up. Some strangers came out of curiosity because they had heard so much of this young man. When you count the number of sign-ins, the two eulogy books and the wreaths received, the total number of people there hundreds, thousand. But it still doesn’t include the busloads of students – transport provided by Victoria Institute (VI) – or those who came on their own, plus the teachers and parents, all spilling inside and outside the residence. They sang the school song in two languages, including a version with the young man’s name penned in. Prefects and members of the school Fan Club danced the Moari Haka dance to welcome a hero home. That day was also Awards day, dedicated to this young man. But parents were receiving best student and academic awards on behalf of their sons who had chosen to be at the crematorium instead where they performed another Haka. The boys all danced like they had never danced before; with so much gusto, so much passion, so much love. Their hearts were so full that each cried as they shouted, as they thumped their feet on the floor, as they beat their chests. A scene so hard to forget.
What did this young man do to have touched so many lives?
Jonathan Byron Gan, aged 16 years and a bit, lived life to the fullest. He maxed out everything that came his way. He was soft spoken yet opinionated. Gentle but grounded in what he believed. Honest and charming, to a fault. He was proud and could be stubborn. He reads, he writes. Talks a lot on the phone. Loves food and takes a long time to eat, even longer time to dress up. A scholar, a sportsman and a gentleman. A good son who often does what he is told, not what he wants to do.
He finished his primary education at Kuen Cheng Chinese school even though his mother tongue was English. He was a member of the school band and switched from drums to trumpet. He took part in all the athletics events, including tennis, just to help make up a full school team. He played football and was selected to train in the Under 12 league at Old Trafford, home of Manchester United, meeting all the stars including David Beckham and other boys from all over the world. Later, he could talk non-stop on any sports event even if he did not play them. He was also school Prefect.
With these credentials and his As from UPSR, he was admitted to VI, which would become his second favorite place on earth after home. His third was the 1st KL Scouts den, fourth the football field and his fifth, any place with his friends.
He reads a lot, from J. K. Rowling to Jeffrey Archer; from Roald Dahl, Anne Rice, Dan Brown to Mitch Albom, James Patterson, Paulo Coelho, and Nicholas Sparks. He loved Queen, Guns ‘N Roses, Aerosmith, Elvis, Beatles, Maroon 5, Simple Plan, U2, Linkin’ Park, ColdPlay…He plays the electric guitar. Loves to sing even if he can’t … really… He crooned ‘Fly me to the moon’ to his sweethearts over the phone.
He was Patrol Leader with First KL scouts troupe, and according to the boys, he was the one “who made things happen”. Because of his absence from school during his chemotherapy, some scouts resigned as they said, “there’s no more reason to hang around”.
He was a normal kid doing the most ordinary things. Yet these same things made him extraordinary because in sum, he left us a treasure trove of gifts.
Of being compassionate and forgiving. For all the days that he did not visit his Grandma after school, he would call to find out how she is. Because she lives alone and is lonely, he said. He would call all his cousins to remind them of her birthday. He forgave all his friends for not turning up if and when they had promised to visit and made all kinds of excuses for them, even when he was at his lowest.
Of being present. He insisted on being treated normal during his PMR exams. He wanted to do the exam with his classmates, in the same room, not in the comfort of a special room. They agreed. He wanted to walk with his walking stick, not be in a wheel-chair. One day the school called to say that he was lying on the floor to nurse a severe headache. He continued PMR right till the last day when he had to be rushed to hospital to get a scan and start radiotherapy. As he lay in bed that evening, he shared about how happy he was to be with his friends for the exam.
It was business as usual for Jon when Form 4 started which was also the start of his chemotherapy. He insisted on getting a new Patrol Leader uniform set and a full set of Form 4 books. He got mum to pick up assignments and to arrange for Additional Maths tuition. He insisted on writing out his assignments even when mum offered to take dictation and have them typed out. I write, I remember, he said. He even studied French through audio tapes and books. He wanted no time wasted.
Of being a courageous leader. Even when his whole left side was paralyzed, he took charge of all the meetings with his team of surgeon and oncologists. He asked the questions like what type of cancer he had, at what stage, what is the treatment, the side effects, the diet and how long he would live.
Of being responsibly honest. He always gave honest feedback, but gently.
Of letting go. He fell into a coma but came out of it and spoke with his mum.
“Please forgive me, mum”.
“Please forgive me too, Jon”.
“There’s nothing to forgive, mum”.
After a brief silence and in a composed voice, he said, “I want you to learn to sing Amazing Grace”.
Of saying goodbye. We found scribbles of notes he left behind. Some we read and some we did not because they were not meant to be read when he was around.
Of finding God. He was baptized when he was 10. Five years later, at the onset of his illness, he said he did not know if God exists as he could not understand ‘why me’. A year later, just a week before he passed on, mum asked if he could see Jesus. He didn’t blink which meant ‘No’. But he saw other close relatives who had passed on. Then mum asked about God and if He was with him. Jon pointed to his heart.
When I was in my 20’s and still unattached, I declared I wanted to have a child by 30. It would be a boy and he would be called Jonathan, after my father, John. I loved the sound of the name but I didn’t know what it meant.
Months after Jon passed on, my husband asked me to check out a site that required dates and times of birth and death details to calculate probable date of conception. He warned me that I might be a little surprised by the result.
Born on: 26th July, 1990.
Passed on: 9th August, 2006.
Probably conceived: 2nd November
Mum’s birthday: 1st November…
Jonathan means God’s Gift.
Although there is not one day that I don’t think about my son and it is not and has not been easy, I would say that I’d rather be loved for 16 years and a bit by Jon, than not to have loved at all.
And I thank God that I have my husband, Peter, and my children Zane and Summer to have shared a meaningful life with Jon too.
