The Monk's visit

"Your mum looks calm and peaceful," the monk said, "She is well taken care of and loved. You can see that..." We walked slowly out of the hospital. An hour earlier, I picked up the monk and his attendant from the train station and we headed to the hospital. Mum was so surprised to see us, especially to see the monk. I think she feels embarrassed, as they had journeyed far and long to be in the same room as her. The monk said not to think anything of it, "It should be," (應該的) as they say in Mandarin. But I know he does not leave the monastery grounds much, if at all. I know this journey and seeing mum in her current state would bring back memories of his own loss. Even so, he came, and brought mum great joy. I am sure of it.

We sat around for half an hour or so. Sometimes I had to "translated", as mum spoke so quietly the monk could barely understand her. "I have two very filial children..." she said. The monk nodded in agreement.

"This body, there is no more treatment. I am fortunate that [my brother] found this place for me and that they would take me..." mum said, panting. She has been complaining more and more of shortness of breath and a racing heartbeat. I knelt by her side the whole time, stroked her arm softly, and touched her head and hair. It's what I do when I'm by her side.

The monk commented on the pictures on the wall and the slideshow of photographs on the flatscreen. "It's so personal and touching to see..." I smiled, unsure still why I smile so much these days. It's not a smile because I'm happy. It's not a smile because I'm feeling awkward of saddened. It's a smile because I know: "I'm trying to the best I can". There is nothing more I can do. Nothing less I can do. And I am so glad I am here, making the last stage of mum's journey as comfortable and easy as possible.

I knelt by her side. There were moments when we just sat around. Even silence and the presence of loved ones and people who care about you can be healing, soothing. The silence was broken by mum's laboured attempts to speak. "I have read about this in the [Buddhist] books. This is something we all need to go through. Like Goenka said it's," she gestured her hand, showing the back and front side of her hand, meaning to say life and death is but the flip side of the other.

The monk took out a book they published, the earliest book of Ajahn Chah's teachings they translated. "Our real home" is the title, a collection of dhamma talks about how wherever you go, wherever you may be, finding peace and calm in the heart is the real place of refuge and peace. "The first piece is a good read.." the monk said. I flipped to the first section, and skimmed through it. I read it before. It's a talk given to a layperson on the brink of death. "Read it to your mum when you can," the monk told me. "I will..." I said. I had intended to bring some Buddhist books to the hospital to read, but he brought the first one. Every time you read this kind books, there's a different feeling.

"The gift if dhamma," I said, "It's the most precious gift!" I recounted how fate brought us all together already five, six years ago. How one thing led to another and we got to know the monk. For so many years, the monastery in the mountains has been a place of refuge and place where mum and I can find a temporary place of refuge and solitude. It has given mum many moments of joy and reprieve from the pains of treatment and hospital visits. When I think of all those moments mum sat in the moments and chatted the morning (or afternoon) away with the monk and aunties, I could cry happy tears and tears of gratitude.

"Thank you for visiting..." mum said weakly as the monk was about to leave.

"Good luck, and goodbye..." the monk said. In Taiwanese culture, it is a most wonderful blessing to be visited by a monk at the end of one's life. And mum is so fortunate, so very fortunate to know the monk in the mountains, and to have him go through all this trouble and travel all this way to see her. "It is the merit she made throughout her life," the monk said as we left the hospital.

After a long lunch, and a few hours sitting down and catching up, I took the monk and his attendant back to the train station. At the ticket barrier, I gestured to kneel down on the floor and bow out of reverence and respect. The monk wanted to lift me up, but I insisted.

I am so grateful, so very grateful that he agreed to my request and came to see mum. As he prepared to go down the escalator, he turned to wave goodbye. I stood and waved, and tried to contain my tears. Happy tears, and tears of gratitude...