What do you do?

One day, there will be a moment, when I will have to let go. Forever let go...

"There's nothing else I can do. That's all I can do..." My eyes instantly became moist.

That was my response to the question what I do with mum everyday. I rub and massage her, I hang around her, I touch her, I hold her hand. I prepare heat packs for her so she can soothe her pain and sores. I walk with her the short distance to the washroom and around the ward, which has become the extent of her world. I climb into bed with her, lie by her side, and I place my arm around her thin, bony body. I put my head against her head and close my eyes, and I imagine positive thoughts and calm, thoughts of happiness and peace can pass from my mind into hers...

What else can I do? Tell me what else I can do, and I will do it. I would do whatever over and over again if it will make mum comfortable and feel safe and loved.

It's all so very little what I do, but even very little can be so much, can mean so much. Even so very little can leave mum looking at me with moist eyes and thanking me quietly for what little I do.

I was speaking to the monk in the mountains, who I often think of turning to when I am in need of advice and inspiration. For he is wise, has the ability to see through things perhaps I have not, and he is a monk, whose opinion and outlook on life I deeply, deeply respect.

I told him everything mum has been facing, and the latest situation, told him my fears, my thoughts, my doubts. Though he said he cannot advise me on the taking of life, he mentioned that if there is an option that is less painful, that results in less suffering, and if it is mum's wish, then follow that path.

There does come a point in life when you have done everything you possibly can. "It's not giving up, because that suggests there is a choice, a choice you're not making." Yes, the reality is there is no choice. If there is a choice, it is how to die... And do we not all want the quickest and most pain-free way to go? Is that just what I want? I can only imagine that it is also what mum wants, but I have not yet had the opportunity to hear it from her clearly and loudly. I know I must make that opportunity, I know I must approach her with calm and wisdom, after going into the hospice ward earlier today and after talking to the monk.

"I feel so strange, so calm when I talk about it with my relatives. I talk as-a-matter-of-fact-ly about all this, with so little emotion. There's just this strange calm..."

Calm is an emotion too, the monk said. There have been moments when I was very afraid, I am sure there will be moments like that more, and there will be moments when I am so tranquil, so at ease. Feelings, like every situation, are just the way they are. Nothing less, nothing more. Better to deal with something as painful, as difficult as deciding the fate of someone you love so deeply with calm and wisdom than with fear, dread and confusion. Better for my mum, better for me, better for everyone.
And as the appointed "spokesperson" of my mum (even though it is a position I shun and do not wish to shoulder...), as the news breaker and news reporter for my brother, who is thousands of kilometres away, I must remain calm and collected, calm and collected so I can tell things "as they are", not "as I feel or fear they are". So far, I have been doing a "good" job of doing that. Not only must I inform, I must also reassure and calm my brother, tell him about mum's condition and diagnosis, but at the same time tell him not to worry or think too much, and reassure him that I will be the judge of when it is time to come back. It is a very stressful, very burdening task, but I must bear with it, for many people  and many emotions are resting on my interpretation and assessment of mum's situation.


 I told the monk through this entire process I am learning and experiencing the Dhamma and realising the teachings of the Buddha. "Really, what else is there to it? It's just the way it is!" I may not be a good meditator, I do not meditate everyday and I may not be able to recite sutras and retell inspirational stories of the Buddha and his disciples. But I know the basic tennets of the teachings. I know about, even though I am still learning and struggling with, birth, life and death. I know about suffering, pain, emotions, and how illusory, temporal they are. This is perhaps the greatest test of faith, the greatest test of whether I have really ingrained Buddhism and the idea of living mindfully, living peacefully, living with worry and fear into my everyday life in the face of death, in the face of losing someone I hold dear dearly to my heart...

Later on the phone, a friend of my mum's, who calls every single day to check up on her and ask how she is doing, called. I spoke to her, and told her about my day, about my visit to the hospice. She said she saw signs of this coming, but was very afraid to tell mum and especially tell me about it. "I am afraid, not so much about mum, but about you," she said, "I am afraid how you will take it all, especially when that day comes..."

I have often thought about that, and yes admittedly, I am afraid too. It has been a long, long journey that mum and I have embarked on together. Though I have not been there always, though I have not been there completely, I think I have been there at the crucial times, during the vital moments of treatments, diagnoses, and most recently post-surgery recovery and rehabilitation. It has been a long journey mum and I have been on, a journey that has lasted through my entire lifetime till now (and is still ongoing...), a journey that has been long but greatly intensified over the past three months since my return.

How does being so close to someone affect you when you lose that person? How does being there every single day for so long, hoping to make a difference, hoping to make that person get better, get well again, make you feel when at the end of the day the person will not get better but will instead leave? What does it do to your mental state of mind? How does it traumatise my thoughts, my feelings, my very being? Will all my bottled up emotions just come bursting out? Will I just collapse and be so distraught that I will lose the ability to smile and laugh and hope and dream again?

I do not know the answers to these questions... And I cannot know until that moment comes. My mum's friend is concerned about how I will cope, but my initial response is that I will cope alright, I will be fine, for I have the teachings of Buddhism inside, guiding me, enlightening me on this difficult path to facing death and loss. "Be prepared..." she told me, "You have to build a foundation in your heart for what happens..."

Am I prepared, or am I just fooling myself? Am I not preparing for what comes not with all these words, with attempts to jot down every detail, every thought, every sight and sound and (almost) every word that is spoken and heard in my life in these crucial days? Has not writing/blogging for so long not served as my therapy, my saviour, my guide and outlet? Am I just turning a blind eye and deaf ear to the dangers of emotional collapse and distress which ensues after losing someone dear I have heard about and even feared? Is it enough to dream about going away and travelling, to plan to go on a long, long bike ride to prove to myself that I can still realise my dreams after mum is gone? Is it enough consolation and does it offer enough concrete support to deal with loss by planning my own life and setting out a roadmap of what I would like to do after mum leaves my life? Is it enough to imagine being reunited with my lovely little cat, who has (despite my often absence and separation from her) been the source of many warm nights and beautiful, beautiful moments of feeling love and warmth in my heart whenever I see her? Is it enough to dream of the possibility that perhaps at the end of this difficult journey, there is someone waiting for me, waiting to shelter me and care for me as a lover, as a friend, because he now realises how hard life is, how hard life has been without me all these months?

There are a great many questions and doubts, fears and musings. So what do I do?


Just do what I have always done, do what I always have been trying to do...
Just do my best with the circumstances that are such and cannot be changed... Just do my best and keep on smiling and finding queer little hints of humour in everything, like I've so often managed to do...
For doing your best, there will be no regrets, there will be no things undone, no things unsaid.

What else can I do?
That's all I can do.