The seeds of regret
by Steve Dawson
TEN years ago almost to the day, I left my father and mother behind in London for a life in Singapore.
It was to be a new and exciting experience. I felt for my mother though. She adored my wife and eagerly awaited grandchildren.
But I am sure my more conservative father was quietly upset, too.
He was born in a small Yorkshire village called Great Ayton. Its great claim is that the explorer Captain Cook was brought up there. In fact, they went to the same school, albeit some 200 years apart.
If James Cook was the school's most successful pupil, my father may have been a close second.
He played cricket for Yorkshire schoolboys and captained the county at football. Middlesbrough Football Club wanted to sign him as a schoolboy but academia won the day.
He was the first person from his village to win a scholarship to Oxford University. There he studied history and wrote love letters to my mother daily. She kept them in a small leather case, now tucked away in my storeroom.
While at Oxford, his own father died. In a family history written for my brother and me, Dad wrote: 'The loss of my father was a terrible emotional blow. Mum became such a strong support.'
Away from his family and the woman he loved, and out of sorts with his contemporaries who generally came from more privileged backgrounds, he soldiered on.
After graduation, he become a teacher before moving into an administrative, local government role in education.
He was dedicated to his work and enjoyed it. But it was all-encompassing. If he ever had the knack for relaxing, he soon lost it.
My mother arranged everything from family holidays to dinner parties. She even, infamously, constructed a greenhouse one weekend, while my father worked on his papers and my brother and I watched TV.
Just before I left for Singapore, Dad's only brother died in harrowing
circumstances, quickly followed by his mother.
Just after my departure, he took early retirement and my brother moved into his own apartment.
I was happily aware that my mother and father were becoming closer. They took holidays in Europe and Asia and even learned to ski.
'After the end of so many hard years in my own profession, and hard years for Mum in caring for her family, I was now learning to relax, and, in our companionship, we were now beginning to rediscover each other,' Dad wrote.
But just as their mutual years of struggle had come to an end and the fruits they had borne were being enjoyed, their twilight years turned to darkness.
Two weeks before my first daughter was born, my mother died suddenly. My father became rudderless.
Having lived a life of hard work with my mother running everything else, he was unprepared for a life without her.
I flew back, keeping my emotions in check so as to be strong for him. Only when we visited the undertaker and my father walked out for a break did I waver. My head fell onto my chest and I sobbed until a moment before he returned.
It is fair to say, in general, that Western families are not as close-knit as those in Asia. Children are not, nor are they expected to be, quite as filial as their Asian counterparts.
As such, I was unprepared for the request my father put to me just days before the funeral.
'Can I come and live with you in Singapore?'
He looked as forlorn and in need as I had ever seen him. Knowing my father as I did, he must have felt so alone and scared to have even made such a request.
He had no hobbies. All his friends were, in actuality, my mother's.
In the space of 18 months, he had lost his mother, brother and wife, while his career was over and his sons had both flown the nest to start their own lives.
'This is a huge decision, Dad, a life-changing one. It's not a decision you should make in the week that your wife has died,' I replied.
I added that it might not even be possible for him to get residency status in Singapore.
But the real reason for not welcoming him with open arms was one I found hard to admit: When my father needed me most, my freedom meant more to me than his happiness.
I promised to look into the immigration issue and he agreed to think it over while things settled down. But the subject was never mentioned again.
I believe that after a time, he put himself in my shoes and decided not to pursue the matter. But I cannot be sure.
About four years after Mum died, Dad died too.
Without question, he must have been lonely fending for himself when he was so used to relying on her.
My father's leather-bound tribute to family life ends, heartbreakingly, with thoughts of his lost wife: 'As I write this, we would have been excitedly anticipating our Rhine cruise for which Mum had so carefully planned. There was so much to look forward to.'
Today, I have daughters, who are regarded as more filial than sons. They have been brought up in Asia where filial duty is more pertinent than in Europe.
My wife, who is Asian, expects some form of security from our daughters as we age and become more reliant on their youth.
As a Westerner - even as I become increasingly Asian in my outlook - I still see it as a liberty to indulge in this mindset.
On the whole, I suspect my girls will make more sacrifices for their father than I was prepared to make for mine.
But I cannot expect it. And if what goes around comes around, I won't deserve it either.
Steve Dawson is a correspondent with Channel i News
Send your comments to stlife@sph.com.sg
The other day i had a long discussion.. (well in a long email rather) with my best friend from Sg. For personal reasons.. i think i want to go back to help him through this bad patch. He said Come back please, if it's not me who needs you. It is your mum who needs you more.
This article.. came out just as we were discussing this.
Just thought i'd share. I'm sure everyone has read this in Life.