Visit

Within two hours of landing, I was at her bedside. She stretched out her arm, and extended her fingers, now long and bony. She has much changed, her cheeks sunken and dark from the chemo, and her head visibly bald with a few meager strands of gray hair.

I held onto her hand, and smiled. She saw me, and smiled back. What a surprise it is, she said, and thanked me for coming all this way to see her. Her voice weak and coarse. “I want to,” I said simply. If my presence, however brief, however futile in the grand scheme of things, can make her feel a little more warmth and cared about, then the long trip was more than worth it.

She was there, but also not fully there. Whenever she closes her eyes, she seems to drift off. She looked peaceful in her sleep, though now and then I could feel her twitch. Nightmares? Flashbacks? Memories? Did she feel the slight trembling of my hands?

And when she opens her kind eyes again, she was right there before me again, if only temporarily. Unable to eat and bed-stricken for a few days now, she still asked about my mum, and said that she thinks of my mum often. “A far away relative,” she said, meaning that she and my mum both share feelings and emotions that only they can comprehend.

I sat in silence as she slept, listening to her light, raspy breathing. I sat next to her, at times holding her hand in mine, sometimes stroking her thin, veiny fingers, and I meditated.

”Peace be with you… may you be free from suffering… may you be free from pain… may you let go…”