13 Ogos 2008 ini, genap setahun arwah Fadlyz meninggalkan kami sekeluarga...
This is the article that came out in The Star. We certainly have not forgotten you, dear cousin...
Coping with the pain of losing Edi
By KAK LONG MARIA
(Kak Long Maria is the cousin of Edi)
Jangan jadikan diri anda sebahagian dari statistik- an oft-repeated reminder from TV commercials.
But what if we didn't contribute to the accident? Or worse, what if we had to pay the price for someone else's carelessness?
That’s what happened to my cousin, Edi, whom the whole nation last week knew of as Fadliz Ahmad, one of 22 who perished in the Bukit Gantang bus tragedy on Aug 13.
That fateful Sunday, he was sent off by his mother, sisters, and brother-in-law to Melaka Sentral. He was excited. Who wouldn’t be? He was on his way to his convocation at USM (Universiti Sains Malaysia). He had left some money for his family, bought his mother a pair of shoes and hijacked his dad's. “Sedap pakailah. Ayah beli lain tau”. The family had to leave before the bus arrived as it was late. He called just before he boarded the bus. And that was the last they heard from him.
The next day, when there was no call from him, his mother tried calling him around 7am. No answer. She tried again at 8am, 9am and again and again. Around 12.30pm, my uncle, Pak De came home from his kebun, and asked whether Edi had called.
He was already feeling a little apprehensive but didn’t want to worry my aunt, Mak De, and so he didn’t say anything. In their anxiety, they had not tuned in to the news. At 1.20pm, a policeman arrived at their doorstep, asking Pak De to call the police station. As the police personnel at the station relayed the news, the azan Zuhur from the Taman Maju madrasah started, followed by the Jasin mosque.
And the pain began. Calls were made to family members. Disbelief, followed by grief, was felt by every relative. Uncles, aunts, cousins and relatives, from as far as Kelantan, from both sides of the family started making arrangements to come home.
I got the call from my dad at 2.05pm. “Along, are you in class?”
“No, but I have one at 2.30pm”.
“Can you come home now?”
“What? I have a class soon.”
“Can you take leave today?”
“Huh?” Then I noticed something – my dad was sniffling.
“Is something wrong, Pa?” (my dad had a minor stroke three months ago.)
“No, no, not me – it’s Edi, anak Pak De, meninggal kemalangan kat Taiping pagi tadi”.
I called Atok to find out more. Then phoned my husband, who was in Malacca; he immediately left for Jasin. Then I managed to speak to Pak De – it’s still painful to recall the voice of a distraught father.
He told me to inform the others. So I called the relatives on my phone list. “Hah? Edi?” “Ya Allah, Fadliz kat TV tu dia?”
My phone didn’t stop ringing till I reached home. At home, my parents were in a daze. It was only an hour later that we started packing and left Shah Alam for Malacca at 5pm.
As we reached Bemban, I asked my mum if she wanted to go to our Taman Maju home for Maghrib prayers or head straight to Pak De’s house. “Rumah Pak De,” was her curt reply.
Once there, my mum, her sister and sisters-in-law, who were already red-eyed, immediately broke down as they hugged each other. We learned that my uncle, aunt and their son-in-law had left for Taiping.
And reporters began showing up. Everyone was emotional as we listened to the story of how my aunt couldn’t stop crying as she put on the shoes that Edi bought her. Those were the shoes she wore to claim his body.
Later, we caught part of the TV3 news which showed the tragedy in its closing segment – the pain of seeing the bodies being laid in three rows, knowing that one of them was our Edi, brought tears to our eyes again. Even my 10-year-old was bawling.
But when watching ntv7’s English news, we were shocked and aghast. And then, livid beyond words – with the bus driver, the company, the authorities. How could they allow this to happen?
That night, I was awakened by my baby. Once she slept again, I tried closing my eyes, but a flash of Edi as a small boy made me sit up. Gosh, I had almost forgotten his face as a kid – now that I could recall him vividly, he reminded me of someone. I rushed over to my mum’s cabinet, and riffled through the albums, but couldn’t find what I was looking for. Then I started looking at the framed photos on the wall, and I stood transfixed – except for the longer face, yes, he looked exactly like my nephew Adam.
Edi was one of my favourite cousins (I now have to refer to him in the past tense!) – active, talkative, shy, and manja. Everything about him flooded back that night – how he would rush to sit next to me, snuggling up for a hug and kiss whenever I dropped by his house; and the trip I took with him to Taman Buaya when he was eight. I was “allowed” to kiss him until he was in Form One. But still, he would rush out of his room whenever he heard me arrive.
Ya Allah, how are his parents going to cope with the grief?
In the morning, when we got hold of the newspapers, again we experienced the mixed feelings – sadness and anger. When I reached Pak De’s home in the morning, we were told that the kereta jenazah was near Malacca. The house was full of relatives, neighbours, friends – everyone had their own story to share.
We talked about how good a child was he – obedient, reserved but always with a ready smile for everyone; he who always took part-time jobs during the semester breaks at the local shopping centre or the gas station. He was the one who sent my Atok and arwah nenek’s breaking of fast delicacies during the month of Ramadan, and only stopped doing so when my late grandma insisted that he did so – she was worried about his safety as he rode a bike then.
At 9.15am, the body arrived. And the flow of tears began again. As his serene face was revealed, a number of aunts hugged each other for support. Mak De, Pak De, followed by Atok, his grandma, his brother and sisters took turns to give him a final kiss. Mak De was broken-hearted; Pak De, the pillar of strength for his siblings during my late grandma’s death, was grief-stricken.
Atok looked unsteady while his grandma was shaken; she had no more tears to shed – she had cried throughout the night. Then, they left for the surau for prayers. It was almost like my late grandma’s funeral last year, where the pallbearers were the grandchildren. This time around, the brother and cousins rushed forward, joined by his two brothers-in-law and they all insisted on carrying the coffin all the way to the burial ground some 800m away.
The burial ended at 10.30am, but the painful journey for my Pak De and his family is far from over. My heart goes out to the; especially Edi’s younger sisters. Shida has to go back to UMS (Universiti Malaysia Sabah) for her studies; she was inconsolable as she missed sending off her brother at the bus station as she only arrived from Sabah at 2pm. Nadia (Radhiah) needs to buck up for her PMR in October, while my biggest worry lies with Mira, who will sit for her UPSR in two weeks’ time. I pray that they’ll all be strong.
In the meantime, the news surrounding the calamity continues. This minister, that minister, the IGP, and every other VIP ‘worth his salt’ giving their views. But who’s taking the flak here? The relatives are making nasty comments, when watching the news or reading the newspapers. We really hope the authorities will keep to their word this time around and get to the root of the problem.
The last time I saw Edi was in January during his brother’s wedding. He was busy then, so we didn’t get to talk. But as usual, the smile he flashed warmed my heart.
I can still recall my late grandma’s words when she told Edi that she didn’t want him to keep sending her food for buka puasa. “Tak payah Edi, cakap ayah engkau, tak usah hantar lagi, Atok risau. Bukan Atok tak suka, tapi Atok sayangkan nyawa engkau tu!”
And now he’s gone too. We will definitely miss you, darling. There will always be a special place in our hearts for you. But we know that He loves you more.
