Being brave

"You are so brave..." my cousin said. We stood in the lobby for almost half an hour just talking about mum. She has not seen mum for about two weeks, and my cousin visited today after work today, and also to have dinner with me. After she came out of the hospice ward, her eyes were red and moist.

"It's so hard not to get emotional. How do you do it?"

I don't know. I don't know how I look at mum everyday, how I touch her skin and stroke her arms and legs without crying. I don't know how I can look into the yellowishness of her eye whites and not quiver. I don't know how I can watch her heave for breathe without feeling pain or such resentment at what cancer has done to her. Instead, my mind seems to be filled with compassion, patience, and love... seemingly boundless love and the feeling that love (and a little foolishness and childishness) can overwhelm everything sad or painful.

My cousin hugged me, and told me about her dream the other day in which she saw a coffin and also ornaments for the deceased. She was shaken awake by the vividness of the images in her dream, and by the sight of herself howling from pain in the dream. It was so powerful that dream that she is still shaken from it all. I heard her describe it, and it sent shivers down my spine...

"What do you feel...?"

I'm not sure. I'm not sure where this calm comes from. I find myself being so calm and collected, being so stoic and perhaps even appearing unfeeling. "I know I will break sometime, but for the time being, I am able to just do things, be with her without being or becoming too sad..." I explained and compared my feelings now with feelings at the time of my dad's passing. I was so calm too, unexpectedly so. "I guess if you do everything and are kind to the person, there is no remorse or too much sadness..."

The body will decline, the body will fail and decay, but I believe the spirit will live on. And in a way, I am fortunate that mum's mind is so clear and she still remembers a lot of things from the past, and it has been beautiful viewing pictures of the places we have been together with her. I know one day she will not physically be there for me to hold or touch, but she will live on in my mind, in my heart... And I know she will be with me, watch over me, care for me wherever I may be... I told my cousin about how the month in Canada has been therapeutic and been like a pre-mourning period.

I told my cousin about going to see altars where we could place mum immediately after she passes. I told her about the frank discussion we had just yesterday about what clothes she would like to wear on the day of her funeral, and what she would like to "bring" with her. Mum replied very calmly and clearly when I gave her suggestions and even showed her pictures of the beautiful dresses she wore once. I seem to have this strange ability to describe it all as-a-matter-of-factly, which makes me so uncomfortable at times. Why is it that other people cry after seeing my mum, why is it that brother struggles to contain his tears, whereas I don't even shed a tear...?

"You have prepared well..." my cousin said.

Have I really? How can one really prepare for death? All I've done is take a bunch of pictures and memorabilia home with me on this trip, because I know it'll be the last trip. I did it too four years ago when I rushed home to be at dad's side. Because you just know. You just know...