Mum's wish

"I'll write them a letter," mum said, "And I'll have to trouble you to take care of the rest..."

I reminded myself my face was visible through the video streaming half way across the globe. I braced my emotions, and told myself not to, not the first thing in the morning almost straight after waking up. Hopefully, the blurred pixels blotted out the tears that seeped from my eyelids. I forced a smile, a bitter, awkward smile, and promised I'd do it.

Over the last two days, mum got together with two of her old colleagues, one of whom moved to the countryside to take care of her parents. She invited my mum to stay over, and to visit the pristine eastern part of the island, where the air is clean, where hot water flows directly from hot spring water in the mountains. Mum said she had a wonderful time just chatting and reconnecting, over tea and nice healthy meals, with her friends. Lifelong friends, people she has been in touch with only occasionally over the past few years, yet the friendship is so strong they still can laugh together and cry together  when they talk about the past. One of them recently offered to drop by and stay with mum, cook for her and take care of mum's needs whenever she does chemo.

Mum told me a wish she had, something that came to her on her way home earlier. For a long time, mum has wanted to take her two friends to Europe, and they've talked about over the years. But everyone has family, everyone has a busy life, so that wish was never realised. "But I'd still like to take them on a trip to Europe, they have always been so good to me."

Mum's face was a little sad, but also showed a gentle calm as she said that. Perhaps that gentle calm comes from feeling so grateful for having friends who care about her, who want to come by and be with her when she needs her, and who told her that she is always welcome to visit and stay in the countryside, where the environment is better for her health.

Originally I thought mum was planning a trip soon with her friends, but then I realised what she meant when she said "I'll write them a letter". That realisation was painful, and again a reminder that there are things she wants to be realised, but knows perhaps she may not be around to see them realised. Even so, it is good to have dreams, to have wishes, and perhaps it is even comforting to know that even when you are gone, those wishes will live on, and one day be fulfilled. If not by you, then by your dearest friends, by your own child.

"We talked about you too," mum said, "They said you're a wonderful son..." Hearing that didn't help, and I struggled to contain my tears once again. I could only try, try like I've always tried before throughout my life, to be the son I see myself being. There is nothing "wonderful" about it. And I know there are times when I have disappointed her, been rude to her, been too hard on her. 

What she said after that made my heart sink and cry even more. "I told them what I have arranged for you, what I left you for your wedding day," she said, "It's not much..."

Mum does not realise that it is more than enough, more than I could possibly ask for. And I ask for so little. I want so little from her, from life. I just want to give her what I can, to try and make sure that she is happy. Happy alone, happy with her friends, happy every moment of every day. However many days there are, just be happy, be free!

I smiled at her, silently thanking her, silently grateful for thinking of me. Yet silently I was saddened to be reminded by the way she was talking that she knows perhaps she may not be around when (and if...) I do get married one day.