1967 is the year after my paternal grandfather passed away suddenly, much too young at the age of 48. This coin was in an angpow that my grandmother prepared for her eldest (that is, of her firstborn son) granddaughter yonks ago, and had been kept safely by my eldest aunt for (I’m guessing) over four decades until Grandma’s passing on the evening of 5th November 2011.

My intrepid aunt had also been safeguarding some pieces of jewellery from my grandfather for each of his 5 children, probably conveyed via my grandma. It was a deeply touching surprise, not least for my mother, who never got to meet him and received a gold bracelet with a pretty little heart.

But oh, how much I’d rather feel the warmth of Grandma’s hand, not the cold weight of this coin in mine. I thank God that “love is as strong as death”, even though my parents/aunts/uncles/cousins and I have different ways of declaring that.

Dear God, for whom nothing is impossible, may the day come soon on which every one of us can proclaim in spirit and in truth, “Where, O death, is your victory? Where, O death, is your sting?”


The lost coin

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