"I Was Trembling and Crying Out On My Knees"

The fast-approaching festive season is a time for family joy - but for Susan Chee, this time of year also reminds her of when her husband died in the SilkAir MII85 crash. She shares how she rose above the emotional waters that once threatened to drown her, to bring hope to others.

When her husband's colleague called to say SilkAir MI185 had crashed into the Palembang River in Indonesia, killing 104 passengers and crew, Susan Chee's world came crashing down along with the plane. Among those who died was her husband, Tan Choon Yeow. A Regional Financial Controller for Solar Turbines, a subsidiary company of Caterpillar, a global manufacturer of construction and mining equipment as well as gas engines and turbines, Choon Yeow was no stranger to the world of air travel, having to go overseas often for work.

Although he was a frequent business traveller, Choon Yeow was looking forward to spending the festive season together with his family and had been rushing back that weekend just to be with his wife and three kids, Lou Ee, then aged seven; Pam Mei, then aged six; and Jo Ee, then aged one.

"I remember that Friday evening of 19 December 1997," says Susan, who was 40 years old at the time. "The phone kept ringing because Choon Yeow's colleagues wanted to know which plane he was on, and whether he was back from Jarkarta. I confess, I got quite irritated as I did not know what had happened. It was only when I asked one of them why they were calling so often that I was told... a plane from Jakarta was missing."

At that point, everything became a blur. Susan recalls calling her sister-in-law and her own sister before heading to the airport in a daze. It was night, and the children were already in bed. "I was trembling and crying out to God on my knees," she says. "Everything looked hazy and blurry. All I remember is going downstairs from my home, to go to the airport, and seeing a few cars with bright headlights, and figures walking about."

At Singapore's Changi Airport, Susan was ushered into a noisy room where a conference was supposed to be held. "My head ached just being there. There were lots of loud, angry voices - ministers and officials talking using microphones, and people who were angry because we were being told it was not possible to visit the crash site immediately as no permit had been given," she recalls.

With no other news available, the only thing Susan could do was go home and pack a bag for travel to Palembang. Her suitcase included one set of Choon Yeow's clothes - her way of clinging to a shred of hope that her husband might still be found alive.

At Ground Zero

When Susan finally arrived at the crash site, accompanied by a niece who was to become a constant companion through the many trips in and out of Palembang, she expected to see debris, bodies and broken pieces of plane. "But all there was... was a huge, murky river with yellow mud banks, and not a single clue or evidence of a crash."

However, later she was taken to a huge hanger nearby, where salvaged pieces of the plane, luggage and other personal items, were stored. "It was there that my husband's partly-burnt passport was returned to me."

Despite the tragedy, Susan remembers also feeling a strange peace. "I felt God's warmth sizzling through my body - a wonderful, comforting feeling amidst all the cries of people around me." She also recalls feeling sympathy for the young Singaporean and Indonesian military who were combing the site and diving into the murky waters in search of wreckage and bodies. "I am very thankful to the authorities and our SAF personnel," says Susan. "I can't imagine what they must go through to have to search for bodies under such conditions."

Telling the Kids

Then came the terrible task of telling her children. When she got back from Palembang, Susan learnt from her maid that her eldest son, then only seven years old, had hardly spoken for days. He was just hiding under a blanket, hoping to see his father again. Says Susan, "When I spoke to Lou Ee, I just told him simply that mummy couldn't find papa. I just told him the truth."

Then there were the endless tears. For many months, Susan cried herself to sleep - and even burst into tears in front of her children. She was so lost in her own misery that she overlooked the effect the tragedy was having on them too.
Then two incidents awakened her to the pain and fear her children were going through. "Once, I came home very late as I was taking a night course. I returned to find my son crying bitterly," recounts Susan. "I reprimanded him for crying. Then when I asked him why he was crying, he said he was afraid that I could have been involved in an accident, and he was worried for me."

She admits, "I used to cry myself to sleep at night, so I had perpetually swollen eyes for a couple of years. Then one night, about three years after Choon Yeow's death, I found my youngest child, who had been sleeping with me, crying in bed. When I asked Jo Ee why she was crying, she said she missed papa and that she also needed to cry before she slept. It was then that I realised my four-year-old had been watching me cry at night!
 
"It was heart-wrenching for me to realise that I wasn't the only one who was feeling insecure. From then, I tried not to cry in front of the children. I had to learn to be strong for them and to be discreet in handling my emotions."

Moving On

If the emotional torment was not enough, Susan also had practical matters to take care of, such as finding an income to raise her three children. Before Choon Yeow's passing, she had been running a furniture business and at first, she plunged back into her hectic full-time workdays. But gradually, she realised she couldn't live that way anymore. She just had too much on her plate to cope with. Something had to change.

"I tried working full-time for that year, but the last straw was when I forgot to pick my son home from school one evening," she says. "The children had already lost one parent, and I felt I should be around for them."

Susan is thankful that her husband had wisely bought personal insurance, and had taken out policies that could be used to pay for the children's education. Susan now lives on this insurance income, and she also works as a private tutor and a freelance horticultural guide at the Botanic Gardens. She says simply, "I have learnt not be so ‘kan cheong' about money."
 
But when it comes to festive seasons, the pain of memories still sting. Susan says she's "cancelled Christmas for the last few years", and only recently have her church group started to come over to spend the season with them. She still buys presents for her kids, but "done without the Christmas touch. But it'll come back soon, the gift-wrapping and merriment," she promises.

Chinese New Year, however, is when Susan misses Choon Yeow the most, because "while visiting his mum and siblings, they resemble him in speech and mannerism", she says. "But I keep these traditions of visitation for my children's sake, as it is the only time they get to mingle with their cousins."

Today, not only is Susan emotionally back on her feet, she is also helping other widows. As an active committee member of Wicare, a widows' support group, she meets with young women who have also lost their husbands. Tragedy may have struck, but Susan feels that through her work with other widows, hope is born once again - not just for other women in need, but for herself.