Call

Mum was out for a bit of massage, something she does after her chemo sessions. The phone rang, and it was a friend of hers.

"Just calling to check up on your mum," she said. I recognised her voice. In the time I have been back home, this auntie has called to see how mum is doing at least half a dozen times.

I thanked her profusely. I felt my many, many thanks cannot express how grateful I am, how much I value her support and her phone calls. I was moved to tears, and had to suppress myself to avoid betraying my wavering voice. "Thank you for your calls, for caring so much about mum. When I'm not here, my brother is not here, and you often call. I really am very grateful..."

"It's nothing," she said, "Just friends supporting each other. I'm a bit worried about her [my mum], especially during and just after chemo, so that's why I call."

I thanked her again, and could not think of anything else to say. Deep down, I was filled with such gratitude that words are meaningless and useless to express how I felt.

"Encourage her, don't always talk about her illness but also about other things. Let her vent," the auntie said.

We all need to vent indeed. In many ways I am glad that I am here so mum can pour out her pains and her sorrows. It may get too much at times, especially when she starts to talk about wanting to be left to die. Her complaints may overwhelm me, flood me with such deep, deep sadness, may trigger a rebellious unwillingness to really face and accept the reality of her situation.

But most of the time, I let her emotions unload on me in the hope that she will feel relieved afterwards, in the hope that the less she bottles inside, the less damage her pent up emotions can do to her physical body, and the less her frustrations and worry will become food for the cancer that loves foster and feed on negativity and stress.

"I'll call back again later," she said, and the brief conversation ended.

Inside, the indescribable and so inadequately expressed feelings of gratitude grew and lingered...