Night before departure

This time tomorrow, I will be ascending above the Pacific Ocean, on my way. Mum will be next to me, and probably the lights in the cabin will have just come on. We will be on our way together, to Canada.

Last night in Taipei, mum is already in bed, snoring a little. I put her to sleep, and gave her a pat on her arm "We're really going away!" I said. She smiled, and she looked confident, even though the pain in her throat still bothers her whenever she swallows. I told her that she didn't have to say much, and to save her voice.

One last day in Taipei, and there are still a number of things left to be done. A last minute trip to downtown to pick up some items, a last minute trip to the hospital for mum to clean her artificial blood vein (which needs to be done at least once every two months...), and then final packing and arranging of the suitcase. Most of the things have been packed, and there are a lot. For myself, my suitcase is filled mostly with souvenirs and gifts for others. For friends who have helped me greatly while I have been away... for friends who I treasure and so appreciate for their presence and support in my life in Canada. Colleagues who make working at the office enjoyable, entertaining, and fun. Mum's suitcase is filled with mostly medicine and supplements to give her strength and to control the growth of the tumour. I remember seeing dad's suitcase, filled with all sorts of pills, a year or so before he passed away, and seeing mum's suitcase brought back that memory.. .I have already made it very clear that I will do most of the hauling and carrying. All mum has to do, I told her, is carry her purse and a small trolley and light carry on.

Last night in Taipei, and I spent the night writing cards. To friends, but most importantly, to my uncle.Though none of my relatives know that I have been here in the past month or so, three days ago I received a picture of my uncle from my cousin. I could barely recognise my uncle (husband of my dad's older sister). He was frail looking, thin, and the grey hair that once covered his head had all disappeared in the three months since I last saw him. I understood immediately why, and learned from my cousin that that he has been undergoing chemotherapy for a tumour growing on the lymph glands in the neck area. I wanted to rush down south to visit my uncle, but some family complications (so ridiculous and trivial that it's not even worth going into...) prevented me from making the trip. Though I did have a heart-to-heart talk with my cousin, and we connected over the fact that a parent of ours has been so weakened and changed by the terrible, terrible illness of cancer. Even so, we were not sad, but hopeful, our spirits buoyed by mutual encouragement and sympathies.

So I wrote to my uncle,to show him I care and how I would like to lend him a word of encouragement the best way I can without being able to be there with him physically. I wrote him a card, "Smile," I wrote, "It's the best self-treatment" (in Mandarin, a play on the sounds of the words that works very cleverly). I told him to take good care, to live in the moment, live in every moment. Everything else... illness, death, fear, anxiety are but distractions from living, really living.

Tomorrow this time, I will not be here anymore. But as I tell myself every time I leave a place, I leave so that I will come back again one day...