Night before departure

Suitcases are packed, and just about to go to sleep. This 12 day trip to Europe is almost over. What began with a sad, depressing note eventually turned out to be a rather relaxing visit. I remember dreading coming back here, I remember trembling and feeling so painfully anxious as I boarded the plane across the Atlantic, as if somehow I knew I was coming back to a sad, sad event. But as with so many things one dreads and avoids facing, things did not turn out as terribly as I had imagined.

I lost someone dear, someone who I would ritualistically visit and call whenever I am in the Netherlands... someone I will really miss talking to and seeing whenever I am home here, because she is one of the very few things that still make this place feel "home". But despite that loss, most important of all, I got to meet and say goodbye to Carmen one last time, and she wanted me to be one of the coffin bearers, which was a great honour. She considered me her family, alongside her brothers, her own son, and alongside my brother and a friend of his. We were all dear to her heart, because of all the people she knew and met throughout her life, she chose her to carry her on that final journey into the crematorium... I somehow felt a sense of pride, belonging, pain and being emotionally touched all at once.

Other than that, things with my brother are pretty smooth, and we have been enjoying dinners together almost daily, and talking more than before. I think in difficult times, it is good to be there for one another, as support, as sibling, as family. And today being his 30th birthday, we went out to a nice Thai restaurant and enjoyed a good meal. We talked, and I can feel he is especially concerned about mum's wellbeing, especially after what happened to Carmen. He admitted that Carmen felt like a second mother to him, who was there whenever he needed advice and help, and who even travelled to attend his graduation ceremony. He said he was touched by the many acts of kindness and care she has shown him throughout the years, and for the last week or so has been lying awake at night, unable to sleep, and thinking about her... Coupled with mum's health and the fact that she's doing chemo, it's a heavy burden to carry. I know it well...

And again, at the end of this trip, I can look back at the things I have done, the people I have visited and spoken with, the places I have passed by and that have left an impression on me and feel like there is a good closure. No regrets, no sadness or confusion about leaving. Perhaps because I know I may be back here soon.

But it may be because I know I did the best I could in the circumstances, and there is nothing to be sad about when I board that plane tomorrow.

Hair

"Is hair more important than health?", the doctor said to my mum earlier today, while telling her that hair will always grow back, whereas health, once lost, is lost forever. Mum knew this, and she joked that while she went to meditate at the monastery, there were a row of nuns in front of her who had no hair.

I was glad that she managed to see the light side of things, and to see through the hair as something that people attach so much importance to. She sounded joyous and energetic on the phone, and I chatted with her for almost an hour till the battery died. Mostly just random chitchat, talking about what I've been doing, what she's been doing.

In a way, to distract her from the fact that she is, as we were talking, undergoing chemo.

Brother's friend

My brother met this friend back in February, and they have been in touch with one another almost daily. She's quite a nice person, and when she found out that mum's doing chemo, she offered to go see her and take her out to the countryside. And today she even went to see my mum after working, which I think is really caring and kind.

Mum's been doing ok since she came out of meditation a few days ago. She said she felt much better, at least her mind is calmer and she is more at peace with herself. Even so, she said her hair has really begun to fall, and it looks pretty bad now. What makes her feel worse is the fact that whenever she gently grabs her hair, more hair comes off. So much so that the ground is littered with hair that she has to vacuum often. I can't imagine what that must feel like... what an injury to personal dignity it must be to lose the hair that you take for granted every single day, for often it is the hair that makes and defines the person. And I am no longer there to secretly hide or sweep the hair away...

So yesterday mum finally went to get herself a wig to wear. I'm not sure what kind of wig she got, or whether it was from the shop I went to together with her. She said it takes some getting used to, so she's trying it on before she does lose everything. "It feels like putting on a hat", she said on the phone. And later my brother's friend who had gone to see my mum said that mum looked "cute" with the new hairdo.

Tomorrow mum will continue with the chemo again... the unbearable treatment and sickening aftereffects start again...

It's good to talk

I rode the train to Leiden today, the city where I used to study. Only a ten minute train ride, and it felt like I was commuting to school again. I walked around, and nothing much has changed. The same canals, shops (though some have closed down...), same sort of people walking around in the streets and alleyways.

I had meant to go to the library and get some work done, but I met up with a friend for lunch, and library went unvisited. There is always tomorrow.

This is a special friend, who first was my boss, and then became a mentor and guide. She paved my path to Canada, to the study that I'm currently doing, and now and then I see her at conferences and events. I'm forever grateful to have met her, for it was because of her that I managed to go as far as I am now, to get the scholarships I enjoy now.

A week ago she suddenly sent me an email. In it she told me about her sister, who was very close to her, and who had suddenly passed away. I was shocked when I read that, partly because my friend Carmen had just passed away, but also partly because only a few years earlier, my friend had lost her dear brother. It must been such a terrible blow to her and to her family, I thought...

We met at a restaurant, and by the time we stood up again it was some three hours later. She shared with me stories of her sister, her childhood, and we bonded over our feelings of losing people dear. It's good to talk (to borrow from the slogan of a BT ad), to share human experiences and emotions of mourning, of picking up the pieces again, and of moving on with life and work.

I told her about my life in the past few months, the life of moving around, travelling from country to country in attempts to spend time with precious people in my life. I admitted to her that I felt ashamed about not being productive, that my thesis and work had stalled because of unfortunate circumstances. And she threw a piece of sugar cube at me.

Nonesense, she said, it takes time to deal with all the emotional baggage you had to deal with so early in your life. It takes the right frame of mind to write, to be inspired. Family is important, and mum especially so.

I felt much better after we goodbye, and made my way home.

Balloons

I watched the colourful balloons rise, rise, rise into the sky. Some had messages attached to the end of strings, other balloons rose only so far before being caught in the bare branches of nearby trees. All were gently released from little hands crowded along the pavement. Magical bubbles drifted around the procession in random, free motions. To everyone’s surprise it looked and felt like a street celebration.

Children of all sizes, faces of all tones and colours, had come out, in the tens, in the dozens, in the scores, to watch the black limousines drive by. A mother rested her hand on the shoulders of her child as moist streams trailed down her cheeks. Other parents and teachers joined the children as they wildly and happily blew bubbles at us and clapped their hands.

They had all come out for Carmen to send her off on her final journey. For Carmen was their teacher, their friend and confidante; their rock, their shoulder to cry on, and they pal to play with. She loved children, and made educating them, understanding them, seeing the positive potential in every each and one of them she came across her life and career. Especially those who need more patience and help, those who sumbled in the cultural and social divides of this often segregated society, she paid attention to. She devoted her time and energies to making ever child feel special and cared about. And my brother and I were fortunate to have been among these children.

Later, at the funeral home, a boy came up to pay tribute to her but choked on the very first word and could no longer continue. What could one say about a warm, kind, selfless human being who made time for everyone, who saw the goodness in everyone, and who made you feel like you were the centre of the world as she sat and listened? She did not judge, she did not see problems, even in the direst of circumstances. Her connection with fellow beings radiated through her smiles and words of empathy, her connectedness with nature manifested itself in her love of meditation and things beyond the material world.

Music played, and Springsteen’s soulful voice and words penetrated the walls of the crowded room, and of my heart. For the first time since her passing, warm tears escaped the corner of my eye, and I felt the realisation of loss creep up and consume me:

…When they built you, brother, they turned dust into gold
When they built you, brother, they broke the mold.

They say you can't take it with you, but I think that they're wrong
'Cause all I know is I woke up this morning, and something big was gone
Gone into that dark ether where you're still young and hard and cold
Just like when they built you, brother,
They broke the mold.

A little boy suddenly pointed up to the ceiling, and kept talking. She must have been watching us in that crowded room. Where there were no more seats, a host of people willingly stood throughout the ceremony at the back. All to catch a last glimpse of this wonderful woman, to thank her for her being, for her presence and her impact on each of us in separate but equally unique ways. She must be touched by fact that we were there to share our love and memories of her. A projector image of Carmen smiled back at all of us, smiled back at the arrangements of fresh flowers. She must have thought how beautiful, how full of life it all was. Even if the reason we all gathered together was death.

Now your death is upon us and we'll return your ashes to the earth
And I know you'll take comfort in knowing you've been roundly blessed and cursed
But love is a power greater than death, just like the songs and stories told
And when she built you, brother, she broke the mold

That attitude's a power stronger than death, alive and burning her stone cold
When they built you, brother