Mum and I went for a walk in the morning after breakfast. It's become a sort of ritual for us. The doctors said she should walk at least an hour every day, and also do other kinds of exercises to keep the body moving, oxygenated, so the cancer won't spread so quickly.
We walked down the tree-lined boulevard, with the sun beating down on our faces. I was feeling light and smiley, and mum looked happy too. Everything seems to be so normal, for a moment or two, it was as if there is not a worry in the world, and the world of hospital wards and chemo treatments appeared to be so far, far away.
But like with all things in life, I guess it is all a matter of perspective, a matter of the mind. Barely a day ago, we received such devastating news, and mum's mind, as well as mine, were clouded with fear and worry. For a good few hours we were quiet, quiet as we silently walked home, silently ate.
But at bed time, I climbed onto mum's bed, and hugged her, held onto her tightly. It was difficult to do, because I felt my tears tearing. But it felt so right, so very right to hold mum, to reassure her with pats on her back and my whispers that things will be alright...
Mum said she felt very lucky to have me, and she said something that made me so touched. "You've done so much for me already, I could not ask for more..." With those words, my doubts about myself, about what I'm doing and about my repeated attempts to try to be here with mum as much as I can were soothed and removed.
I may not be the perfect son. I may get grumpy and may be impatient and may be not as understanding as I should be sometimes... but I really try, and I'm glad mum feels it, treasures it, and will remember it. Glad, not because I seek approval or praise, but glad because I know that I make a difference, however small, however insignificant...
We spoke for almost an hour, way past her normal bed time. But it was a conversation full of memories, longings and hopes. Perhaps it takes the sight of possible death to develop a certain bond, to initiate a heart to heart talk between a mother and child (or between anybody, for that matter). Mum recounted dad's passing, and told me how she would like to be taken care of... Maybe it's all premature, for who knows how long she has left, or seen from another perspective, how long she will go on living?
Mum smiled at me, and stroked my head softly. I know deep down, she worries about me, and she said again that she is worried about my "abnormal" ways (alluding to my homosexuality, but that word, or any equivalent is never mentioned...). Perhaps seeing how I hug a big teddy bear, which my friend gave me last year, mum actually said she feared that my friend and I would get married.
"Married? I'm not even sure where we stand at this point, let alone talk about marriage!" I could barely contain my laugh at such a strange twist in our conversation, and at how my mum was already imagining things. "We care about each other, I like him, I enjoy his company a lot, and I think he feels the same way back".
For the first time ever, I made it clear to her that I am the way I am, it is nature that made me this way, and nothing can change that. "I'm happy, and that is what is important. And I want you to be happy..."
Mum smiled, and in that smile hid a kind of recognition of, or perhaps resignation to, the impossibility to change fate, to change the course of life, and to smoothen its unpredictable twists and turns. I hugged her again, to reassure her that I am still the son who cares and loves her, that nothing changes. I think she felt it, received my hug, and she understood. Or at least, little by little is beginning to understand.
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