Crash

Almost forty eight hours without proper and long sleep. Another exhausting day taking care of mum's funeral arrangements after her passing. So many traditions to abide by, so Manu customs to adhere to. Even now we cannot say for certain when the cremation will be and when mum will be interred at her final resting place (they are two separate events...). It all depends on what is a "good" day for mum to be cremated and interred, and what is "good" depends on mum's zodiac sign, day and time of passing, and the alignment of the heavens. It is a lot to consider, a lot to be aware of, a lot of taboos to avoid. As if losing a loved one is not already burdensome enough.

Have been too tired to feel sad or really mourn. Though, today while sitting in the car heading to the funeral home with my brother, it moved me so close to tears to see him suddenly just shed tears. He said he was missing mum, and it feels like she's just gone to sleep and will wake up soon. He said it's so strange how these past three months he was constantly by her side, and how this three weeks or so he would visit her daily at the hospital. Now it's all over... Now she's no longer at the hospital or in her bedroom. It is as if we half expect her to be lying there resting, as she did for much of the past two months in bed...

"Looking out the car widow," brother said, his cheeks had the markings of two wet streaks, "Taipei feels so empty. There is nothing here for us anymore..." It was only when he said it out that I realised the same. This is my birth-town and was my childhood hometown. It was a place I would return to every single year almost because my parents were here. Now both dad and mum have moved on, so what is left here? An empty home full of things and belongings of two people who have already gone, an empty home full of memories of what once was but is no more. What else is there here for me, for us?

Brother asked me whether I'm sad and why don't look too sad. "I think it's because I know we have done everything we could. Nothing more could have been asked of us. And it all come to a beautiful end..."

Those are true and real reasons, but was I just comforting myself and trying to be unnecessarily brave? Brave for who's sake? My own sake, because I have no shoulder to lean on and no one I can really cry to? Brave so that other people will not hurt if I don't cry?

Mum is back home now. A temporary altar has been erected in her honour in the dining room. There is a giant portrait of mum on the altar, and before the portrait of mum's smiling picture. Mum told me once, a few months ago when I commented how beautiful the picture on her national health insurance card is, that she wants to use that particular picture for her funeral. And I've fulfilled her wish.

Seeing mum smile back at us is not at all scary. In a way comforting to know mum's spirit is back home and with us (at least that is the local belief...). From today till the day of the funeral, we will just do as she used to do before: get up, wash, have breakfast and dinner, and wash again before "bed". We will have to offer her water to wash herself with, offer her favourite foods and drinks and fresh fruits. It is as if she were still with us, and we can bow to her, talk to her as we wish to. Relatives and friends have the opportunity to come to our home and pay respects to her altar by offering incense or white envelops containing money (another tradition).

We'll make the altar beautiful and dignified so that when people come, they can see what a wonderful life mum has had, and that her passing need not be overly sad...